Azuer
by Kiyuzanova
Summary: "Will you live your life as a noble citizen of the Vatican's laws? Or," Mephisto Pheles smiled, a demon's smirk; "will you be punished trying to revive him?— the son of Satan, Okumura Rin."
1. demon - spawn

_Absolutely in love with Ao no Ex right now. Not enough fanfic out there to quench my thirst, so it's time to stop being hypocritical and start writing. This story is mainly intended as one of many outlets for stress right now, so word of warning: potentially hideous update speed, and it may be dropped especially since AnE isn't my main fandom.  
_

_This story is **animeverse** (with some mangaverse stuff included) and **AU**, if it wasn't obvious enough. Also it's somewhat a 'fixfic', In which I attempt to patch plot holes left behind by the anime. ('attempt', because it's not completely a fixfic, there's a lot of original content for it to be one.) Oh, and no pairings. Rest assured._

_New to fandom and minimal editing →Quality not guaranteed! óuó_

**.**

**Azuer **:_K. N._

_1. demon - spawn_

**.**

"I wonder," mused Amaimon, if distracted words and soulless eyes could be considered musing, "what if I break it?"

Black nails like talons atop thin fingers tightened their grip on the demon sword's edge. Without blinking, Amaimon flexed the blade and watched curiously as the tiny crack slowly splintered wider. Yukio wanted to lunge at him, the figure dark against the bright blue flames devouring the forest they'd escaped from only moments prior. But something held him back—the traitorous voice in his mind.

So he did nothing but watch when Amaimon blinked. Nothing when the demon sword snapped. Nothing when his brother convulsed beneath Amaimon's foot, then became still. Some lost, primal part buried deep within Yukio's heart told him the truth long before being told hours later.

His brother was gone.

Okumura Rin was dead.

* * *

Yukio woke to a white ceiling and white walls, with only a vase of snowy blue flowers the only speck of colour in the room. A canvas with limitless potential, stained with the blue blood of reality and discarded from disappointment. Everything was blurry, not just from lingering grogginess. Aimlessly, he wondered he could stay in the fuzzy world forever. There was no Coal Tar in the fuzzy world. No demons.

No responsibilities.

He looked blindly to the bed beside him through a curtain of poor vision. Ah, Rin was alright, just sleeping.

"You're awake, I see," came a voice.

There hadn't been any footsteps, so it was reflexively that Yukio swivelled around and reached behind his back. But had his guns been there, he wouldn't have needed them – there were no need for glasses to identify the stranger. He had his answer as soon as he saw the white coat and the violet hair.

He still grabbed his glasses and put them on anyway.

"Sir Pheles," said Yukio, too tired to hide his surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Mephisto Pheles snapped his fingers, a wave of power washed across them both, then presented Yukio with a toothy smirk.

"Why, just checking up on you," said Mephisto. "If that's not an issue?"

"No. But you just—what did you do?"

"I merely made sure that no one but us may hear our conversation, Okumura. Do you remember what happened two days ago?"

"Two days ago...?"

—Mission authorisation test.

—Columns of blue hellflame.

—no, _no no __**no!**_—

—_Rin._

Yukio spun around to the bed beside him—and his heart plummeted when he realised the sleeping figure was not his brother but Suguro Ryuji.

"Brother used his flames," said Yukio. "But the demon sword, it broke—how is he?"

"He's dead."

Yukio's eyes widened, and he jerked back as if he could avoid the words. "No—"

"The Paladin was there, watching," said Mephisto, simply. "Had Rin survived, he would still be sentenced by the Vatican. Okumura Rin is dead."

If Yukio had not been lying down, he would have fallen as the life drained from his limbs. His heartbeat engulfed him, buried him alive, the steady _thump-thump_ resonating between his ears as if he had all the acoustics of an ancient coffin. And why couldn't he stop shaking like strings—

"What happened to Amaimon?" His voice was startlingly full despite his hollow shell.

"I – _dealt_ with him. Rest assured."

"You didn't."

"I did." Mephisto turned away, idly rearranging the flowers in the vase. "All of you happened to black out at that moment, unfortunately. Which is why you're here. You're taking this quite well."

_Quite well?_ Yukio wanted to ask—_snarl_—ask. He'd resigned himself to knowing his brother's death would be inevitable one day, and he would have to be his protector until then. To at least fulfil Father Fujimoto's will. For Yukio to stand there _doing nothing while Rin was being crushed_—

"My, my, what a scary face," said Mephisto, cutting off his thoughts. "You're really taking after him."

Any self-restraint left was gone.

"Shut up," hissed Yukio. "I _won't_ have you badmouth my brother, after..."

...

Yukio frowned.

Something was... off.

Playful eyes flicked across, and Mephisto took one of the flowers out by its stem. He presented it toward Yukio with a slight bow. "Morning glory for your thoughts?"

The flower was taken without much thought and absently rolled between fingers.

"It was because the Kurikara broke," said Yukio.

"Yes," agreed Mephisto. "The demon sword with the demon's soul."

"Until three months ago," Yukio continued, "the Kurikara was sealed."

"Are you—"

"The Kurikara was _sealed_," said Yukio. "So that means that for fifteen years, brother was alive, _even though the demon's soul was sealed._"

It was then that Yukio looked to Mephisto. The director was absolutely still, blinking rapidly with one hand suspended frozen in the air. And then Mephisto Pheles laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed, cackling to some hidden joke kept hidden from the world.

"Fujimoto Shiro, you've done it again," chortled Mephisto once the laughter calmed down. The fanged grin still sat there, perched like the cat who'd learnt how to fly. "Excellent, _excellent!_"

"What—"

"Yes," said Mephisto. "Perhaps there is still a chance. Would you like to gamble, Okumura Yukio?"

Yukio's lips twitched. "Gamble?"

"Correct." With a flourish, Mephisto presented a hand. "Will you live your life as a noble citizen of the Vatican's laws? Or," the other hand, "will you be punished trying to revive him?— the son of Satan, Okumura Rin."

And Mephisto Pheles smiled, because everyone knew he was not man but demon.

And that was what demons would do.

* * *

_In all likelihood, his human soul _– _or what had been synthesised, at any rate _– _is within the Kurikara, seeing as he has not gained consciousness. Therefore, theoretically, if the demon sword is repaired then the Okumura Rin you know will return._

_Be mindful._

_There is a very high chance that both souls have been broken._

_To keep things interesting, I will help you. Two weeks is the most that can be stalled._

_But if you leave it too late... _

_The soul cannot return to the body, and Okumura Rin will be no more._

* * *

The director was right to call it a gamble. Even with Mephisto's help, the chance of success was slim to none. And the chance of attempting a revival so close to the True Cross while still remaining under the Vatican's radar... impossible.

Yet, Mephisto's concept of stall...

"Excuse me... sir?"

Yukio turned around to see a young girl who couldn't have been more than seven years of age. She was alone, though one glance showed a man who had to have been her father standing by the gate twenty metres away. Large brown eyes stared up at him, clutching a small _shion_ flower between her hands. Yukio knelt down, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun, stifled in the full exorcist uniform yet not regretting his decision to wear it on such a hot day.

"Yes?"

She hurriedly fell into a bow, the woven sunhat on her head flopping as she did so. "I—I'm Sakamoto Yui, sir. Um – Deacon Maruta told me Okumura Rin was here?"

Yukio smiled reflexively, playing the part of the concerned clergyman far too easily; a puppet guided by death's hand. She didn't know him, know he was related. That was fine.

After fifteen years, play-acting was something he could do, after all.

"Ah, yes," said Yukio. "Br—Rin's here. But... you know...?"

"I do," came the reply, soft but determined.

Yukio bowed his head and moved aside. Yui's steps were hesitant, yet not once did she show any indication of turning back. Finally, she placed the _shion_ atop the stone.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you for saving my life, Mister Rin. I'm sorry I made you lose your job at the supermarket. Please, God, let his next life be good. Okay?"

A gust of wind blew through the cemetery then, as if in answer. Yui yelped and held her skirt down with one hand and her hat with the other, and Yukio closed one eye behind glasses and didn't move though his coat entangled his legs. It died down as soon as it came. Despite the winds, the _shion_ remained where it had been.

The only flower of the day.

Yui quickly gave him a bow, one which Yukio returned, and she hurried to the gate and to her father as quickly as she could before the two left without another glance.

Yukio just pretended he hadn't seen the tears on her cheeks.

Yukio just pretended the grave didn't matter, because his brother's body was safely stored with Mephisto back at True Cross Academy.

Yukio just pretended –

HERE LIES

OKUMURA RIN

1992 – 2008

– hope still existed in a world of demon spawn.

**.**

* * *

— **part one: revret —**

* * *

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Edit: Thanks go to SuperiorDimwit for the dates on Rin's tombstone~_

_I'd be lying if I said reviews aren't loved. Please, drop a line? :)_


	2. handover, the kurikara

_Thank you so much for the feedback! :)  
This chapter used to be two chapters, I merged them because it didn't feel like much was happening at all.  
_

_Never been in contact with weaponry my whole life, characterisationflail _→_Quality not guaranteed!_

**.**

**Azuer **:_K. N._

_2. handover –  
_

**.**

"Shura."

Violet eyes trailed across to glare at the intruder, from Kirigakure Shura's awkward position crouched atop the windowsill too high to act as a chair. The darkness of the room lit only by the moonlight didn't interfere with her vision. For the briefest moment, it could be said that her pupils contracted as her eyes flashed, but it if were true the moment was gone to be replaced with reality.

Shura scowled, tossed away the empty can between her fingers and rose to her feet.

"Didn't yer go back to th' Italy HQ?" she asked. When Arthur Auguste Angel ignored her and proceeded to let himself into her room, her scowl deepened. "Oi, whaddaya think yer doin—"

The door closed shut with a soft _click_. And in less than an instant, Angel was in her face, the tip of his sword at her neck in an instant too fast for normal humans to comprehend.

"_Aaaaarthur, so feisty~_"

The sword's giggles were ignored.

"That is _my _question, Shura," said Angel. "What were _you_ doing? Your orders—"

"—were to investigate an' report on what Mephisto Pheles n' Fujimoto Shiro were hiding – an', _if_ it were linked to Satan, eliminate it immediately," she finished. Shura didn't move, eyes half-lidded, a bored serpent sure of all the odds. "Yeh, so? It's over, Okumura Rin's dead, _so what'cha want_, Angel?"

"Why didn't you eliminate him immediately? Surely, you could see those flames."

"Yeah, well, the kids were in danger and I didn't know nuthin' 'til five minutes before he died anyway."

Angel smiled. "Are you sure?"

Shura didn't stop the twitch of her eyelid as Caliburn drew closer. "Sure 'bout what?"

"Sure that there is no link between you and Okumura Rin that has not been reported to the Vatican."

"The hell, baldy?" said Shura incredulously. "You _fuckin' _think that—"

"You broke your cover as a student."

"The exwires were bein' attacked—"

"And you didn't think it was suspicious that the King of Earth would be interested in an exwire like him?"

"Conspiracy theories 'ent gonna get yer anywhere with no proof like that," said Shura. "If that's all, move along."

Angel didn't move. He pressed his lips flat and narrowed his eyes. Then he sheathed Caliburn with two deft sweeps, and lifted his chin so he was staing at her past the tips of his cheeks.

"Very well," he said politely. "Then I come with new orders."

"Seys who?"

"The Grigori."

"...Fine," said Shura. "Let's hear them."

* * *

Mephisto had promised to stall, and _had_ halted his current role as teacher so he could go on extended leave, but calls to action were still things he could not avoid. Especially since nobody thought grief over his brother's death was a good enough excuse to stop teaching.

Nobody cared. He was still an exorcist.

Okumura Rin was Satan's spawn.

Yukio stopped shooting when the demon bird Gale flapped its wings, gathering winds like cyclones, imbued with demon magicks to force his bullets dangerously off-course. Around him, Dragoons lowered their own guns; one call from the Middle First Class in charge of the neutralisation effort had the few familiars under their command deployed to fight until they could shoot again.

He took a step back and, because he had the time, snapped on the safety and manually filled the magazines with loose bullets again. There were some injured, by those with the misfortune to be hit by feathers that were razors sharper than blades, but the few Doctors on hand were enough and his help was not necessary.

Demons could not enter True Cross Academy due to Mephisto's barriers, that much was true. Gale, however, was a demon high in strength and intelligence. Rather than attempt entering directly, it chose to possess one of the parents picking up their child from the high school. The border guard was able to intercept the vehicle as it entered the south-westerly gate, but it was too late. The possession had already taken place. All they could do was exorcise.

They _were_ exorcists, after all.

The winds stopped just as Yukio placed the last round in the chamber. A white blur hanging from a red flag caught his attention; one of the Byakko had been able to bite the crow's tail.

Kamiki Izumo dared to step past the Knights' protective ring and onto the battlefield. "_Now, Mike!_"

Gale screeched before either Byakko could respond to Kamiki's commands. The woman possessed by the demon screamed in harrowing resonance, the pitch of nails on chalk echoed multifold, and all those who could hear were forced to retreat and cover their ears. There was a loud crunch, the woman landed on the roof of the car: sharp talons shattered glass; steel was torn to confetti. Inside the vehicle, the man at the steering wheel raised bare arms to try and protect himself from the spray.

"Sora!" he shouted, looking about blindly, unable to see without ever receiving a spirit wound of his own; "_Sora_, are you okay?"

The woman called Sora, possessed by the demon Gale, flared her wings as some exorcists stepped closer. "_I won't let you corrupt her! My daughter!_"

"_Halt!_" hollered the First Class. "The demon has a second hostage. Tamers, hold! Dragoons, wait for my command. Knights, do not break the circle! Aria, fatal verse?"

"We've nearly finished the Book of Isaiah," said Yunokawa, beyond Yukio's vision.

"And there aren't any more references to flying creatures otherwise?"

"No, sir."

The First Class swore violently. "Right. Then I want Knights in! Dragoons, disorient with holy water—"

The order was interrupted by a bright flash of yellow light, bright and warm like the sun yet cold and abrasive like bleach against bare skin. Yukio didn't dare lower his arm, though his cells had to have been bubbling and dissolving away, because otherwise he'd turn blind from the sheer force of the glare.

When the light died down, there was only Arthur Auguste Angel standing before the car. His blade was sheathed and he was settling down the woman unconscious in his arms. Behind him, the door opened, and the man stumbled out to where his wife lay on the ground.

"Well?" said the Paladin, stepping around the couple, turning a judgemental eye on the crowd of stunned exorcists surrounding him; "Do you know not how to treat those injured in Japan?"

The words sparked action. With only faintly disgruntled undertones, the First Class set about giving orders again. Yukio had been about to follow – guns sheathed and he was Doctor Okumura again – but, upon spotting six uncertain exwires amongst the crowd, felt Okumura-sensei settle over as he stepped aside to wave his students over.

"Man," drawled Shima. "That was tough."

Kamiki rolled her eyes. "Hah, coming from the person who didn't do anything?"

"That's so_ cruel,_ Izumo—"

"Consider this as an example of what your missions could entail," said Yukio. He should have been on leave, but the words still rose to his mind and out of his mouth without conscious effort. "This case with Gale is a special circumstance, however. You passed the mission authorisation test, but must obtain the license for at least one Meister before you can be considered for combat."

He was about to continue, and his students looked as if they were about to speak, when they spotted a tall figure walking towards them. Instinctively the exwires parted, an action unnoticed by the Paladin. For the strongest exorcist, parting the seas stood well within his power.

"You are Okumura Rin's twin brother," said Angel.

Yukio nodded, stiffly. "I am."

"Yet you did not inherit the demon powers."

"No, I didn't," said Yukio, as the reason for the visit dawned immediately. "I assure you, Paladin Angel, I undergo daily check-ups to make sure of the fact. If, in the case that I do, the True Cross Order will be the first to know. Until then, I will serve as an exorcist fighting on behalf of the Vatican."

Angel did not seem satisfied by the answer. His lips turned to be a faint frown. "But you have been skirting your duties."

"...I was arranging my brother's funeral."

"For two days?" asked Angel.

At the same time, Shiemi lifted a hand to her chest; "...there was a funeral? Rin had a... _funeral?_"

Yukio saw the Paladin's head turn, and when she shrunk he sensed the eyes staring her down. Whatever he'd been about to say to defend himself no longer seemed as important as defending those he cared for.

"Very well," said Angel, before Yukio could say a word. The faint undertones of _I see how it is_ had Yukio wonder if he should have spoken after all. "Good day to you."

Without pause, the Paladin left in a sweep of white wings. Slowly, the exwires crowded around Yukio again.

"Why didn't you tell us Rin had a funeral?" said Shiemi.

Ah. Of course.

Yukio was suddenly aware of how his glasses moved, and adjusted them. "It was unimportant."

"Unimportant—? _Yuki!_ This is about _Rin!_"

"This is not something I wish to discuss any further, Miss Moriyama."

He tried to ignore Shiemi's ballooned cheeks, clenched fists, and the way her shoulders rose as she became a pufferfish fighting for restraint whilst clearly upset. She did remain silent as he'd asked, though it was difficult to determine whether that be because of her respect for him _(—as a teacher)_ or if she thought silence would be the best method of gleaning information.

Unlike a _certain someone _he knew...

Yukio looked around.

No—Shura wasn't there.

Shura wasn't anywhere.

If his heart was connected to an electrocardiograph, the resulting wave would be identical to the path his eyes took as they searched the area. Nowhere could he see the flaming hair amongst the crowd, or the flaunted assets that even the most disinterested exorcists had to train themselves to ignore.

Shura should have been summoned as he had, being one of the strongest exorcists on-site. And she hadn't said she would be leaving.

"Excuse me, sensei?"

Yukio dropped his gaze to meet wavering eyes. Suguro's brows were pulled close over them; he broke the circle to lean closer to Yukio, obstructing Miwa Konekomaru's view.

"Suguro?"

"Could I... ask you something? Uh, in private?"

The uncharacteristic behaviour had Yukio hesitate, but he didn't object and nodded in affirmation. Suguro led Yukio a few metres away, strides determined even as he fidgeted and kept looking back to curious glances.

Just as Yukio came to a stop, Suguro bowed.

"Okumura-sensei, I – I need a favour," he said.

"What is it? If you need something, I'm sure I can—"

Suguro hesitated. "Now that _he_'s gone, I..."

_He? ...Rin? What about him_—

"I would like to have the Kurikara."

* * *

_So long as you choose to remain at the Japan Branch, Kirigakure Shura: Keep an eye on Mephisto Pheles._

**.**

**.**

**.**

_2.5. the kurikara_

**.**

"The Kurikara?" echoed Yukio, before he had a chance to think. "How do you know about the Kurikara?"

Suguro shifted his weight between his feet. "The Kurikara... was our temple's heirloom. Sixteen years ago, it was stolen. I would like it back_—_so that, at least, some of our name can be restored. You no longer have any need of it... and now the demon is gone, it should be safe." Suguro didn't wait for an answer; he bowed again. "Please, _sensei_. I beg of you."

Indeed, Yukio should not have had any use for it, since Rin was dead. Even getting rid of it would be beneficial _– _instead of having to carry the burden of his brother's legacy, it could be forgotten as yet another relic of the past.

Except Yukio did not believe Rin was gone. Except Yukio _could not_ believe Rin was gone.

Otherwise, Mephisto Pheles would win.

It was after seconds that felt like minutes and minutes that felt like days when Yukio finally replied. He adjusted his glasses again to give him something to do. It only blinded him, moving the lenses where light was refracted into his eyes.

"I can't do that," he said.

Suguro looked up _– _and there was something broken in that gaze, hidden beneath layers and layers of someone strong. "Why not?"

"I_—_I can't. It's broken. If... you take it back broken, they'll ask why it's broken."

"We'll just say the demon Amaimon broke it then_—_!"

"Then they'll ask why Amaimon chose to break it!" When Suguro hesitated, Yukio continued. "You get it, don't you? Amaimon was battling the son of Satan. Everyone will think of my brother as a demon so long as the Kurikara exists _because Rin was the last person to wield the blade_."

Suguro shifted his weight away. "That_—_"

" 'Why is the Kurikara broken?'," mimed Yukio, " 'Because a demon was using it.' "

Suguro took a step back. "That's not true."

"You know full well it is."

There was a pause.

"Then, sensei..." began Suguro. Uncertainly, falteringly. "What if the Kurikara is fixed?"

Yukio froze. "What?"

"The Kurikara was forged by a Yoshikuni in Kyoto," said Suguro. "If I can help you get it fixed... will you let me have it then?"

* * *

When he returned to the special underground area below the Academy yet unknown to the Vatican, to the chamber where his brother's body lay frozen in suspended animation with the broken Kurikara beside him, Yukio was torn. He didn't know whether he wanted to throw up or laugh at the skies; a mere mortal thrust into the opposition of chaos, the origin's heart, pulled in every way by forces he could not control.

The light reflected off his glasses may have once been pure. The veil of his lenses warped purity to deceit. A demon gamble, with Rin's soul on the line, would lead deceit into hell.

Yukio knew this.

And Yukio hated himself for it.

And Yukio_—_

He would have missed it, deep in thought as he was, when he gently picked up the broken pieces of the blade to wrap them in Rin's old bed sheet. But he saw it out of the corner of his eye _– _and it was an unmissable thing _– _a tiny spark of blue flame jumping from one edge of the fractured split to the other.

Blue that was Satan's impossible azure.

—Yukio was a demon for it.

* * *

_If you knew I was using you, you'd never forgive me. _

_I'm sorry._

* * *

The house spoke of older times, with its wooden walls and traditional design untouched by modern society. Yukio could smell the change in the air as he approached, when he left the fresh air of the forest to the earthen smoke leaving the building's chimney that danced around the two.

Both of them approached the moment a young woman stepped out of one of the rooms, wiping her forehead down. She spun around when she heard their footsteps. First, there was confusion.

Then confusion shifted to bubbly exuberance as she ran past Yukio to engulf Suguro in a bone-crushing hug.

"_Ryu!_"

"Oi, oi!" said Suguro, "let go!"

She did so. "Back already?"

"No, uh... actually, there's something we'd like you to look at."

Minutes later they were inside one of the rooms, seated upon cushions lying atop traditional _tatami_ and surrounded on all sides by light walls. With tea served, the woman tucked herself into _seiza_. Yukio placed his cup next to the wrapped bundle beside him.

"So," said the woman. "What was it y' wanted ta show me?"

Suguro nodded to Yukio. Yukio, busy suppressing the cringe that came from her heavy Kansai dialect and wondering how the same language could change regions apart, blinked in surprise before picking up the bundle with two hands. Carefully, so as not to drop it, he handed it across to her.

His care wasn't entirely because he was worried for the steel. He wanted to avoid it _– _the blue spark he'd seen earlier. Even if there were layers upon layers of fabric separating flesh from steel.

The woman took the bundle without bothering to hide her curiosity. Briefly, Yukio saw rough calluses out of place on such tiny hands.

"What's this?" she asked.

"The Kurikara." It was not Suguro, but Yukio that answered.

Her eyes widened and she held the bundle away from her. "Y' serious?"

"You know of the Kurikara?"

"'Course I do," she said. "My great-great grandfath'r made it. You don't know what this place is?"

"No," admitted Yukio.

"Th's is th' Yoshikuni forge. The new one, 'nyway." She bowed. "I should'a introduced myself. I'm the eleventh Yoshikuni, Yoshikuni Kotori."

He returned the bow. "Okumura Yukio."

When he lifted his head again, he couldn't help but reassess her appearance. She was small, petite, and the swordsmith. Somehow large violet eyes and mousey brown hair did not suit the image Yukio had in mind.

"Pleased t'meet ya, Okumura," she said. "Now, lesee what we've got 'ere."

The Kurikara had been wrapped tightly so the pieces wouldn't shift during transportation. When she placed it on the ground and gently unrolled it, Yukio found himself only hoping for the best. That she would say it could be repaired; that the Kurikara could be fixed, that he could have his brother's soul whole, and that_—_

Yukio did not expect it when the eleventh Yoshikuni's eye twitched. She rose to her feet, walked across to Suguro, then slapped him across the head.

Suguro reeled back from the blow.

"_Argh_," he hissed, "what'd you do that fo_—_"

"That's what I shu'd be askin' _yer!_" she shouted back. "_What'd ya do to th' blade, Suguro Ryuji?_"

Suguro spluttered. "It_—_It wasn't me_—_!"

"Oh, r'ly?"

"H_—_he_—_"

Suguro's outstretched arm hovered mutely from Yukio to where the Kurikara lay in two pieces, then back again.

"Suguro isn't responsible for this," said Yukio.

Yoshikuni frowned. "Then who is?"

"...He's dead."

Yoshikuni's gaze flickered to the floor. "Ah_—_I shouldn't 've. Sorry."

"Don't be," said Yukio. "Suguro would like to take back the Kurikara, but it's broken and people will ask questions. I'm afraid the questions will taint the memory of its former wielder. It's selfish, forgive my request, but... will you be able to repair it, Miss Yoshikuni?"

It was slowly when Yoshikuni walked back to where she sat and tucked her legs beneath herself again.

"...No," she said. "Fixin' this is impossible."

"Is there at least any way to make the blade whole?" asked Yukio. "Maybe melting it down and smithing it again_—_"

"Technic'ly? Yeah. But I won't do that. As th' eleventh Yoshikuni, I can't do that to the fam'ry honour."

Yukio dropped into a low bow and didn't realise he'd done so until he noticed his head craned forth over his knees and how his forehead almost touched the floor. Resolutely, he stared at the weave of the mats beneath him.

"_Please._"

He expected the silence, filled only with rustled fabric and the shared damper of disappointment that followed a futile plea. He'd gotten so far, but to be stopped_—_

Yukio was missing something... something that could convince them entirely.

"Y'know what," said Yoshikuni, finally, "have y' got the _saya_ with ya?"

_The sheath?_

Yukio lifted his head; "No... it's still in the Academy's Forested Zone."

_The sheath..._

"Well, if y' get it, I can always help tie the Kurikara shut and tell no one to go near it. An' nobody'll know it's broken."

_The sheath...!_

"That'll work," added Suguro. " 'Cause the Kurikara's said to be the sword of Fukaku anyway_—_"

"And," Yukio said, "You're fine with the ancient Kurikara, sword of holy Fukaku, displayed in a sheath that has the True Cross insignia?"

Yukio locked his eyes with the other. He did not falter, made sure his gaze did not waver. Suguro could not hide how he shifted under the force of the gaze, nor could he hide the disconcerting effect the words had on his person.

Yukio was glad he did his research on the Myoo Dharani before leaving, so he wouldn't be caught by surprise again.

"If you would like the Kurikara," said Yukio, "this is my only condition."

Even if his possession of it, through theft, meant it did not truly belong to him.

* * *

_...Alright, 'en. Only I'll lose some o' the steel if I smelt it no matter how much I take some care, so I'll be needin' extra blessed jewel steel to replace what'll be lost. Til' you can get it, in the meantime, I'll do as much as I can._

_If that's what y' want, Ryu._

* * *

As they began heading for the temple where they kept the nails of Suguro's old temple, Yukio looked back to the small house in the middle of the woods. It was only briefly, but briefly was enough to see past the gap in the door and through to the forge.

Yukio could see the eleventh Yoshikuni: he could see how the light of the fire reflected off her glasses, never disappearing even if she moved. Fine fingers and a small frame masterfully worked the steel; here she was in her domain, a spirit of the flame.

For the briefest instant, the flames turned blue.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Those wondering about Yoshikuni, Kotori comes from her VA's name. P.S. Any characters you'd like to see more? I'm game._

_Drop a line? :)_


	3. forge'ry

_steadily deteriorating research skills, and fight scenes? What are fight scenes. [attempted] character development go! ø__ųø)/ →Quality not guaranteed!_

**.**

**Azuer :**_K. N._

_3. forge'ry_

**.**

The temple was empty.

"Hey!" called Suguro, for what had to have been at least the twelfth time. "Anyone here?"

Silence was his only reply. Silence echoing between the buildings of a ghost town missing ghosts_—_and perhaps it would have been favourable for there to be a ghost. Then there would have been an indication of what they were supposed to do, a cue they were to follow.

They moved from the courtyard, walking up the stairs to a hall. Experimentally, Suguro pushed at the door. It swung open. Each muffled footstep was loud on the wooden floor, unnoticeable whilst outside surrounded by the natural sounds of the mountain. Footsteps muffled through an unwillingness to disturb the air around them.

Still, not a person was inside.

A few minutes later, Suguro drew to a stop. He turned around.

"I will go looking in the crypt," he said. "Until then, please stay here."

Yukio nodded. Suguro walked away, leaving Yukio alone amidst jade walls and vermilion columns supporting the timber sky. To his other side was the statue of a _Kannon_, surrounded by fresh flowers and incense of many colours and smells.

_Smells__—_

He'd barely had time to register that the incense was lit, especially with the temple as abandoned as it was. He'd only had time to widen his eyes and tense his arms. The Kannon's eyes glowed crimson.

_Don't you feel guilty for manipulating him?_

The pistol was in Yukio's hand before he could blink. He flicked off the safety, and took aim. _Mara_.

_What would they do if they knew you were trying to revive the son of Satan?_

A weak finger nudged the trigger. A small bead of sweat gathered at the top of Yukio's head, before sliding past his glasses and down his cheek to his chin.

_Do you really think repairing the Kurikara can bring him back?_

The Kannon seemed to smile.

_I can tell you how._

* * *

_Why did you run away to become an exorcist?_

The voice came from everywhere but nowhere, speaking directly to his soul. Ryuji spun around, surrounded by rows upon rows of drawers, to meet the eyes of a Buddha hovering in the air.

_Do you think returning the Kurikara is enough to make your father change his mind?_

Ryuji touched his fingers together without thought. _Demon._ Buddha statue... Mara, the demon that tempted Buddha when he was about to reach enlightenment.

_You realise, don't you? If the blade is reforged, you might as well be returning a fake._

Even though he knew it was taking advantage of his weakness, he couldn't start the chant. He had to stop listening.

_Will they really brand you a hero for returning something with no meaning?_

But once he started listening, why was it so hard to stop?

_Isn't Okumura selfish, calling upon rights he does not hold, just to protect the son of whom you hate most?_

"No..." said Ryuji, unsure why he was replying. "Okumura-sensei _does_ have the right. Rin may have been the spawn of Satan, but_—_he saved my life twice. I owe him to keep his honour intact."

_Yet it's fine forcing Kotori to stain the Yoshikuni honour?_

"Don't bring her into this!"

_'I'll do anything for you, Ryu.'_

Ryuji grit his teeth. "_May the Eternal Buddha have mercy o__—_"

The Buddha statue disappeared in an instant. Ryuji somehow sensed it before he heard it, and managed to jump out of the way before the ground exploded beneath him from lasers emitted out of the Buddha's eyes.

Mentally, Ryuji swore. If only he'd prioritised his Dragoon training above his Aria one; then he wouldn't be reliant on chanting.

_You understand, right? The greedy, selfish sensei, destroying the blade and staining the Yoshikuni honour. And he claims he has none of Satan's powers! Isn't that a lie?_

That was when his phone chose to ring in his pocket. Ryuji started. Somehow the buzzing and the ridiculously bubbly tune was enough to do what his will couldn't; enough to bring him back to his senses and remind him there was still a world around him.

And remind him he wasn't alone.

"I won't fall for your tricks," said Ryuji. "_May the Eternal Buddha have mercy on you!_"

There was the loud cry that followed a successful exorcism, and the torrent of tar and black sin leaving the statue left a rare satisfaction through Ryuji that spread through his veins from his core.

The phone stopped ringing just as Ryuji fished it from his pocket. One missed call_—__Yoshikuni residence._ He'd just been about to call back when it rang again.

Ryuji answered the phone. "Hello?"

"_Ryu!_" Kotori's voice was anxious, and a faint breathlessness had Ryuji feel the beginnings of dread. "Uh, I know y're busy_—_"

"I took care of it," he said. "What do you need?"

There was an unsettling pause. "...Is this really 'right?"

"What do you mean?"

"The... the flames. They_—_keep turnin' blue whenever I put the Kurikara in them. The Kurikara is a demon sword; which demon did ya keep sealed in there?"

"The son of Satan."

She was silent, but he could hear the tapping of a pen on the other end. "No wonder. Well, I... think I figured out how to make sure I fold the steel along the seal, so nothing can come out, but I_—_I'm scared, Ryu. What if I mess up an'_—_"

"Don't worry. If he hurts you, I'll kill him." Ryuji hoped his voice hid how his heart skipped a beat. Of course; broken as it was, the Kurikara still held Rin's soul. _What would happen if it was reforged...?_ "More importantly," he added, quickly, when the Mara's words echoing his insecurities came back to him, "are you really alright with this? You don't have to smelt it if you don't want to."

There was a weak laugh. Ryuji couldn't tell whether it was because of his bold proclamation, that he would kill the son of Satan, or if it was because she'd willingly tarnished her honour.

For him.

"It's okay. They don' record women swordsmiths in books anyway." The pen stopped tapping. Kotori sighed, so soft it probably wasn't meant to be heard. "Don't worry 'bout it. Thank you, Ryu."

* * *

_Hey, Ryu?_

_'sup, Kotori?_

_When I grow up, I wanna be the second most famous swordsmith in history!_

_Naw. You'll be the _most _famous. I know you'll be._

* * *

The number one rule of exorcism was to never listen to the words of a demon. Demons would speak words sweet but truly sour, entrap you in a web of lies and deceit whilst appearing to be genuine, and use you until you were nothing but a carcass left for the world to mourn and the vultures to devour.

The number one rule of exorcism was to never listen to the words of a demon.

No matter the circumstances.

Yukio had broken that rule once already, willingly, when he'd agreed to Mephisto's gamble. It was that gamble Yukio remembered instinctively when the Mara began to drift closer, whispering words and promises that it could bring Rin back from the dead. That it knew how.

When he remembered the gamble, he remembered too clearly the feeling of betraying the exorcists' creed.

He fired the pistol. The Mara dodged.

_I am not your opponent._

Yukio fired again.

_I am your ally._

Empty words. That's all they were. Demon sweet talk and demon persuasion.

He fired.

_Together I can help you do things you can't do alone._

When Yukio fired three more bullets in quick succession, forcing the Kannon to teleport away, the Mara growled _– _a growl that manifested into ripples of energy in the air.

_Filthy... exorcist trash!_

Yukio had been caught off-guard by the change in tone that he'd forgotten to pull the trigger after the slide cocked back again. There was only enough time to jump aside when the Kannon's eyes glowed. Somehow, he managed to avoid the column of flame that rose where he once stood.

_You can't do it, you know? Once they're dead they're dead for good!_

"Your recovery isn't bad," Fujimoto Shiro had said, far too long ago. Yukio remembered the words, felt the words, when he righted himself and aimed in less than a second before shooting again.

If the Mara was looking to push him and break him, it failed. Father Fujimoto too was dead, as was Rin. But upon Father Fujimoto's death, Yukio had pledged the very thing the Mara desired least.

It was not that he would protect his brother.

It was that he would do everything for Rin's sake.

Just as his father had done.

_He's a demon! The spawn of Satan! Do you really want to bring back the very thing responsible for ruining your life?_

Yukio shot again. Yet another dodge. Only, this time, the Mara in the Kannon laughed.

_Fool! You fool! Ask yourself this: How many bullets are you on now?_

Yukio had aimed, been about to shoot again, when he saw the slide hadn't slid back upon the loading of a new round _– _there were no more bullets left to load. Yukio'd lost track of his count; an amateur mistake he hadn't made since his days as exwire.

The Mara knew this. That was when the Kannon soared toward him.

There was no time to reload or get his second pistol, though he tried. As his fingers fumbled behind him, the Kannon's eyes glowed again. When the column of fire rose, Yukio barely managed to roll away, but the action had accidentally caused his second pistol to slip past his fingers and fall out of its sheath to clatter on the ground.

And then the Mara was less than a metre away, its eyes glowed again, and from his crouch it would be impossible for Yukio to dodge the second attack_—_

He wasn't thinking when he saw the slide snap back into the forward position. He wasn't thinking when his hand burst into blue flames. Every instinct in him drove his hand up, muscle memory from his training days locked his arm into place, and he pulled the trigger.

Nothing left the barrel. Rather, the blue flames around the pistol slid down the sides of the slide. They converged at the muzzle, forming a single projectile. The projectile didn't have far to travel before it hit the Kannon in the heart.

The Kannon caught on fire.

_S__—__Satan...!_

Yukio returned to his senses just as the fire burnt the demon away. The Kannon statue was left behind, gold coated with a layer of black ash. He stood there, breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed down at his hands.

No.

No.

_No no no – impossible__—_

It was only when Suguro returned from the crypt did Yukio go to fetch the fallen pistol on the ground, and did Yukio remember their reason for visiting the temple. Right. They were getting more jewel steel. Absently, he sheathed the pistols again, not bothering to load a fresh magazine.

After touching the Kurikara's broken pieces, Yukio had hoped seeing the spark didn't mean what he thought it did.

He'd hoped his worst fears weren't true.

_Yukio was a demon for it._

* * *

They'd given Yoshikuni the nails, told they would be usable, and instructed to return later. And return later they did; the moment Suguro told Yukio the Kurikara was ready, Yukio headed off without a second's pause.

But when Yukio was closing the door opened with the Kyoto key, a white blur shot through the gap at the last minute. It was a dog, white, tiny and stout, and the same dog sometimes seen wandering about True Cross Academy's campus. Most likely it was the pet of an exorcist, as it had the True Cross patch pinned to its collar.

Yukio and Suguro shared a look, unsure what to do. Suguro blinked, and Yukio shrugged. Yukio was far too used to seeing it around, following people everywhere. If it wished to follow, it would.

And it did, pattering by Yukio's feet the whole time.

Yoshikuni was waiting for them at the door when they approached the house. The kimono was gone, replaced by a long sweater and a skirt, and, judging by the school bag he could see near the door, Yukio realised it must have been her school uniform. When she saw them, she waved. Then her eyes widened as she spotted the dog and she ran out to them.

"Y' get _pets?_" she asked, running her hands through the fur at its head. The dog snorted, almost petulantly.

"Yes," said Yukio. "He followed us here, though. Do you have the Kurikara?"

"Right. Here."

Yoshikuni rose to her feet, then extended the sword in her hand toward them. Yukio, being closer, took it. He tried to ignore the chill dancing across his spine, drawing loops as it spidered across his senses. Now he had it. The Kurikara was complete again. With it... he could return Okumura Rin to life.

The spawn of Satan_—_the _first_ spawn of Satan.

He looked at the Kurikara in his palms, then his gaze shifted to his hands around the hilt. Vivid visions of blue returned to the forefront of his mind; blue flames around Rin_—_would unsheathing the new Kurikara cause him to change too?

He'd been about to try it. Instead, suddenly too aware of his surroundings, he turned it in his hands. They still hadn't gone to recover the original sheath, so she'd used a plain, undecorated blue one instead.

It was definitely... _odd_.

"T'was a hard job, definitely not something I'm used t' doin'," she said. "Don' go wavin' it about, though. The blade may be in one piece but the quality definitely ain't. And I don't think it's attached back to the hilt right either but it's the best I can do."

"Thank you," said Yukio. "Again, I'm most deeply sorry. It there's any way I could_—_"

Yoshikuni shook her head and smiled. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"The blade is fixed," said Suguro from behind him. Yukio turned to see Suguro extending a hand for the sword. "I can have it now, right?"

Yukio nodded. Hours and days of mulling had cumulated into this. There would be no way out of it; he'd already gone as far as he could. However, as he held it out, moments before it was taken from his hands he could have sworn it grew lighter.

Suguro unsheathed it immediately, and Yoshikuni took that time to berate Suguro for not believing in her abilities. Yukio only paid their discussion half a mind; he was staring at his hand and, in the distance, how the setting sun reflected light off the exposed blade. There were... no flames. Earlier, he'd looked in the mirror and examined every inch of his body incessantly.

There was no change. He was still human.

...Right?

When they returned to the True Cross Academy, stepped out into the grounds of the old boys' dorms, Yukio watched as Suguro left across the bridge back to his own dorm. Yukio wasn't sure how long he stood there, immersed in his own thoughts, mulling about the blue flame and wondering what there was left to return to – and wondering why he still stayed in the old dorms since Rin was gone after all.

There was a faint cough. Startled, Yukio looked down to see the dog looking up at him with intelligent, bored eyes. Beside its feet was the Kurikara, still in that awkward blue sheath that wasn't quite the right shade of blue. Somehow, _somehow_, Yukio knew that _this_ was the real blade. That the other one had to have been a fake... though he couldn't imagine _how_ they could have been switched or even why.

Then the dog opened its mouth and spoke.

"So?" it asked, half-lidded eyes searching, and there was something in that gaze that violated Yukio's soul. "What'll you do now, Okumura Yukio?"

**.**

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_Please review? :)  
_


	4. bydeath

_merged chapters 2 and 3... still unsure if it was a good decision, but too late to back down now. Long chapter is long, but don't wanna cut it. wrote most of this in a day too for ya' too/collapses_

_Thank you Dimwit and Guest for reviewing~ ;; and again, what is editing →Quality not guaranteed! ^ç^)/_

**.**

**.**

**.**

_The dog opened its mouth and spoke._

_"So?" it asked, "what'll you do now, Okumura Yukio?"_

**.**

**Azuer **:_K. N._

_4. 42 + 2_

**.**

Yukio, to his credit, did not freak out and jump back. He only reached behind him for his pistol, making sure to take the one which still had a full magazine, then the muzzle was pointed at the dog in one swift movement. Despite the patch on its scarf, it was no mere pet. And only demons with incredible power could talk.

The dog was unperturbed.

"What are you?" asked Yukio.

There was a brilliant puff of pink smoke. When it disappeared, Yukio's grip on the gun faltered and his eyes narrowed. Mephisto Pheles caught the look, pursed his lips, then reached out and somehow plucked the pistol right out of Yukio's hands.

"Such a dangerous toy for a fifteen-year-old," said Mephisto as he looked it over. Then his eyes trailed over to Yukio under raised eyelids. "Do you point that thing at everyone you meet?"

"_Director_," said Yukio.

Mephisto didn't seem to notice any of the hostility surfing across Yukio's aura; he began spinning the pistol around one finger. "Hmm?"

"So**—**that dog around campus... it was you?"

"Of course."

"You never reported this ability to the Vatican."

"No," Mephisto agreed. "I didn't." He stopped spinning the pistol and turned to face Yukio. "Are you going to?"

_With this gamble on the line_, were the words unspoken, yet they turned the air into lead.

"...I can't."

A wide, fanged smirk took the place of Mephisto's smile. "Good to see you understand. Let's take this conversation inside, shall we?"

Yukio, left with no choice, simply nodded. He took the pistol back when it was offered, noted the safety was on, and stored it behind his back just as Mephisto leant down to pick up the Kurikara by his toes.

_The Kurikara_**—**

They entered the abandoned dorms, cold and silent and empty. Each corridor led to death, thought Yukio, because his mind would automatically return to memories of Rin and himself as they lived with each other, brought hell to each other and the fun they shared. But Rin was gone, Rin was dead.

As Yukio followed Mephisto to wherever the director felt like going, his eyes were drawn to the Kurikara, nestled within gloved hands.

No, he reminded himself. Rin was not human, he could regenerate, he did not follow the human laws. He may not necessarily be dead; his soul was merely broken when the Kurikara was broken. Now it was complete again, there was a faint chance**—**

Rin was not human.

_He's a demon!_, the Mara had said._ The spawn of Satan! Do you really want to bring back the very thing responsible for ruining your life?_

Then there had been _flame_.

And _Yukio_ was not human.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Mephisto came to a stop. Yukio looked around; they were in the cafeteria.

Mephisto snapped his fingers. "Ukobach! Bring us some tea!"

There was an affirmative squeak from the kitchen, followed by the sound of boiling water. Mephisto walked toward one of the tables, and Yukio thought the director was about to sit atop one. Instead, Mephisto walked around it before pushing a chair aside. Then he took off his hat, reached an arm inside it far deeper than the hat was tall, and rummaged around.

The large, pink leather armchair he pulled out was definitely not something that could have fit within those confines.

The small demon Ukobach arrived just as Mephisto sat down. Feeling somewhat unsure, Yukio took the seat across, where Ukobach had poured him tea.

"Thank you," said Mephisto to the demon. Ukobach bowed(**—**_always welcome, master!_) and took its leave. Mephisto's smile slipped slightly when he turned back to Yukio; he moved his teacup aside, then brought the Kurikara to rest before him.

"Yes," said Mephisto, before Yukio could speak. "This is the _real_ Kurikara. The Kurikara that Suguro Ryuji believes he holds is merely an illusion that will wane as time passes **– **unless it is supplemented with energy again."

Yukio had so many questions he didn't know where to begin.

"How long will the illusion last?" he asked, simply because it was the last question he managed to frame.

"Most likely? A week. I wasn't expecting you to repair it so quickly, you see~ Go on, tell; indulge this demon, won't you?"

"Suguro Ryuji wanted the Kurikara. He knew where it was forged," said Yukio. "I gave it to him on the terms that he would get it repaired."

"Ah, yes… the Myoo Dharani, of course. Of course. Surely his swordsmithing friend didn't simply agree?"

"Rin's honour was on the line."

Mephisto's eyes widened. He leant forward, for an instant far too close to Yukio for comfort, then leant back again, clapping his hands amidst shoulders shaking with mirth.

"Amazing, Okumura!" he breathed. "_Fantastic!_ Such wordliness at such a young age? There are demons who _thirst_ with envy for the skill. You _truly_ are Satan's son."

Later Yukio would reflect upon how he managed to keep his face level at the words, his emotions in check, the only change being the tightening of his fists and the feeling of nails cutting into skin.

"How did you switch the swords?" said Yukio. "_Why_ did you switch them? You're only closer to losing now."

"Don't misunderstand," came the reply. Mephisto picked up his teacup between long, slim fingers. "Were it not for my generosity, you would have failed long ago. The Vatican has ears everywhere."

Something about the words filled in more puzzles than one.

"Then that's why we're here and not in your office," said Yukio. "You think it might be bugged."

"How perceptive." _Clink_; the teacup was placed down. "But unfortunately, wrong. For how the swords were switched, that is none of your concern. No; what I would like to do is draw your attention to the blade."

"...The blade?"

Mephisto inclined his head toward the Kurikara. "Draw it."

Yukio froze. What if the blue flames emerged? What if they overwhelmed him, as they did his brother? What if he changed beyond all reasonable belief, as Rin had done and**—**

He was suddenly keenly aware of the sharp gaze studying his face and, wishing to avoid it as long as possible, drew the sword.

Nothing happened.

"Do you feel anything?" asked Mephisto.

"No," said Yukio. "I don't."

It wasn't a lie. He felt nothing.

And he was relieved beyond words.

Mephisto _hmmed_, in the strange way that hinted of knowledge only he was privy to.

"Not sensitive enough? I suppose it may have been too much to hope so. Well, no matter," he added. "What you need to know is that the Yoshikuni is very quite talented. The Kurikara feels whole."

"Then..."

"Yes," said Mephisto. "It is possible to revive him."

Yukio opened his mouth. For what, he wasn't sure. Any words he tried to form tumbled down his throat, despite efforts to force them out. Everything that he'd done... his choices all led to that moment. Rin would be revived.

But Rin**—**_Yukio_**—**was a _demon_**—**

Mephisto cut through his thoughts. "When do you want to do it?"

"W**—**what?" Yukio choked.

"Pay more attention, little Okumura," and here Mephisto took his saucer with two fingers, the teacup balanced precariously atop letting off small ringing noises as he lifted it from the table. He leant back in his chair and crossed his legs, took a sip and sighed. "Now you have the Kurikara. You have confirmation that revival is indeed possible. When do you want to do it?"

"_When..._" Yukio's heart skipped a beat. "Then you know how."

_Artificial life research._

An arched eyebrow. "How did you think you were going to get any far? My, my, was there no thought when you accepted this gamble at all?"

_The splicing of a soul into the body of a human recently passed away, or preserved._

"You see, Okumura, I am a very busy man. If there are no more preparations you'd like to make then I will have him resurrected immediately."

_Banned by the Vatican for its sacrilegious nature, institutes around the world were forced to close three hundred years ago._

"I..." said Yukio.

_And the head of the leading institute had been..._

Mephisto uncrossed his legs and placed his cup on the table.

_Johann Faust II._

With expectant demon eyes probing, studying his soul, and the reminder of the Vatican fresh in his mind, Yukio could only remember the exorcists' creed. He was no longer sure about the correct answer.

"So?" asked the demon, with a knowing smile, "what will you do?"

* * *

_I'll... wait until later._

_Wait? _**—**_Really?_

_Yes. There's... still something to finish._

_Very well. Then you may take the sword. I, will await 'later' with glee._

* * *

For Yukio, it was no longer about doing everything for his brother. He'd done all he'd needed to do; all that was left was to give the word and Mephisto would begin the process of restoring life to a body that should have been dead.

No. Now it was about what was best for Rin. Reviving Rin meant that it was no longer an issue of helping him, but an issue of what was best for him. Being the son of Satan meant a permanent death sentence atop his head, and now that it was public knowledge...

There could no longer be an Okumura Rin.

Especially after Okumura Rin's funeral.

A soft whining noise had Yukio look up sharply from his desk. There shouldn't have been anyone in the dorm with him, especially as abandoned and run-down as it was. Kuro had gone missing ever since Rin's death **– **and even if it were Kuro, the cat sith would not have been able to make the sound. Yukio'd only barely managed to dismiss it as his hyper-stressed imagination when he heard it again.

The pen in his hands was placed atop the paperwork, without its cap, and Yukio silently pushed back the chair and rose from his seat. As he did so, a flash of red caught his eye; the Kurikara, within its carrying bag, tucked between the table and the wall.

Why Mephisto had given it to him, he wouldn't know. But he had to keep it safe, so it was reluctantly that he grabbed it and slung it across his back **– **before realising, as he made to get his pistol, the sword obstructed access to the sheaths and the magazines strapped on him. Quickly, he swung the sword around so it hung from his front, then awkwardly attempted to lift his arms into position.

No good; no matter what he did, the sword would be in the way. He kept it on, strapped in front of him, though. He would have to deal with the sub-optimal stance; he'd been trained for it in the case of injury. Especially since a minor discomfort in shooting was still better than an inability to reload.

He saw the cause of the noise as soon as he stopped into the corridor. One glance was enough to send him into his own spiralling nightmare.

_King of Earth._

_Amaimon._

Yukio fought the urge to step back into the room when Amaimon's head flicked toward him. Stepping inside would only restrain him, restrict him further, because the doorframe was a mouth to a cage rather than a mouth to freedom. Instead, Yukio kept his sights lined and his attention sharp. There was no time to be wondering how such a powerful demon could have passed the wards. He reached behind him for the second pistol, and pulled the trigger of his first.

There was only time to take him down.

_One plus one. Two. Three-two_.

Amaimon didn't react when the bullets hit him **– **and Yukio could tell they hit, if the blood was any indication (**—**_blood?_) **– **and Yukio frowned.

Odd.

He took two steps back, careful to keep the wall behind him, temporarily pausing the terrain calculations and risk assessments running through his mind to look closer. And now he was paying attention, he noticed Amaimon's unfocused eyes, the slight drag to his step, and the presence of slowly healing bullet wounds and unscratched clothes.

That was when Amaimon fell to all fours and suddenly started running towards him. Even though running on four limbs with human proportions should have slowed him down, Yukio had a slight suspicion it did the exact opposite.

Amaimon leapt blindly at the wall. Yukio only barely managed to roll away in time.

As he settled into his crouch, he saw the scars from sharp nails **– **sharp nails on _stone_. Yukio jumped to his feet and started shooting before the demon could recover. Yukio wasn't strong enough, definitely not compared to the King of Earth. But it seemed Amaimon was disoriented to the point where strength was all he had.

Amaimon lifted himself to his feet. Yukio was right; there was no reasoning behind the King of Earth's daze.

That knowledge didn't stop Yukio from running and shooting for all he had.

_Four-four. Four-five._

There were no exorcists in the True Cross Order's Japan branch powerful enough to take down the King of Earth, even in that state. To gather the number he needed would take too much time **– **time he didn't have. And, Yukio sensed too clearly, when he tried to climb up the stairs to the next floor **– **hoping the altitude would give him both a better vantage from which to snipe and stall the already disoriented Amaimon further **– **he had the real Kurikara strapped onto him.

Calling reinforcements was not an option.

And Shura was missing.

_Five-seven. Six-seven._

Yukio wasn't strong enough. He knew that. All he could do against Amaimon was try to stall for time, hope the demon would somehow slip up. What damage he was inflicting was not enough; Amaimon would just heal the injuries away.

But there was one thing Yukio could do.

_Six-eight._

Yukio could count.

_Seven-eight._

One hand ejected the spent magazine while the other aimed for Amaimon's chest. Press, flick, reload.

_Eight-zero._ Eject. Repeat.

His first magazines were spent for both guns, from when he had seven bullets in each and the eighth bullet in each pistol's chamber. From now he would be counting to seven. In total, there were six magazines; two loaded, two spare. 42 bullets. And then the two from the chambers; forty-two plus two.

Even though Yukio knew how to count, it was still his biggest weakness of all.

Only forty-two plus two chances to take a threat down.

Yukio fired twice more. Then he went back to running. And as if he were a mindless beast attached to a leash held on the other end by Yukio himself, Amaimon blindly followed.

_As if_**—**

Yukio frowned. Then, disregarding all instincts, he closed his eyes.

The mindless Amaimon had once been hurtling down the corridor to where he was standing.

Only there was no noise.

And, after the Amaimon had to have rushed through him, _there was no pain_.

As if the Amaimon were merely an illusion.

He heard another faint whining sound again, this time directly above him and far closer. Yukio didn't think. He reached for a holy water grenade, activated it and threw it upwards without opening his eyes. The throw was mistimed; rather than exploding at the peak of the toss, Yukio heard it explode far too close to his head and squeezed his eyes shut as the mist washed across him like stifling sea-spray.

A small _chink_ sounded from beside his feet. Yukio opened his eyes and looked down to find a round mirror the size of a plum. As he watched, the reflective surface faded to black, before the mirror disintegrated to soot puddled across the floor.

And, after he looked around, the Amaimon was gone.

As suspected. The Amaimon was merely an image created by a Carbuncle, a weak demon said to be like a kitten but had no documented form other than a mirror in its head. It used the mirror to duplicate the appearance of others so that it may obtain food.

Except that didn't explain how the Carbuncle obtained the King of Earth's image to begin with, because the last time he'd seen Amaimon was when the demon was everything but woozy, in the middle of breaking his brother's soul**—**

It was too late when Yukio realised he'd thrown a _holy water_ grenade **– **which, while effective in exorcising the Carbuncle, was a foolish move considering the Kurikara was still strapped to his front and because _he_ was a demon(**—**_right?_). A quick check of the sword showed it was still dry as the bag had absorbed the mist in its place. Another quick scan of his own exposed arms showed... nothing?

Nothing.

At least until Yukio doubled over and began coughing violently. When he felt the sticky mix of mucus in his mouth and tasted the blood, the coughing fit died down immediately; as if the recognition of textures and flavours in his mouth were an off switch to whatever injury had been caused. Or, perhaps more frighteningly, the coughs were a warning.

A warning to remind him he was no longer completely human.

Yukio returned to the room he and his brother once shared, and returned to the paperwork. He picked up the uncapped pen, scribbled on a spare notepad to make sure the ink hadn't dried, and it almost slipped through his fingers as he did so. No; he couldn't do it. The adrenaline rush was still there, pulsing beneath the surface of his skin.

He knew the truth far too clearly: had it not been a Carbuncle, he would have died.

For the first time since Father Fujimoto's death, Yukio capped the pen, placed it back into its holder and put aside the paperwork for that day. He finally took the Kurikara off and placed it back on the table. Just as he was contemplating on a better storage space for the blade, especially since he wasn't supposed to have it in his possession, he spotted the picture millimetres away from his hand.

Yukio reached for the photo frame. Fujimoto Shiro, Rin and himself. He'd seen it countless times before, of course. It sat on his desk every day. Both Rin and Fujimoto were grinning, though where Rin's was young and full of life, Fujimoto's was _old_, worn from age. And he**—**and Yukio could only put on what people called a smile; the corners of the lips had been upturned, that had been all.

He'd seen the demons. He'd always known the demons that walked the Earth.

He'd become an exorcist just so he could be stronger.

Yet, had it been the real King of Earth, he wouldn't have been strong enough. He would have died. Just like all the times he should have died before.

_the Kurikara drawn. The first time. Blue flames, bright blue, cyan unequivocal and impossible in nature. From the floor to the walls, everything that sickening majestic azure._

_Then the flames glinting white off shiny steel from fluorescent lights, soaring toward his heart._

—_Shoot, Yukio!_**—**

_Heartbeat heart beat heart powerless and_

_and Rin flew past him_

_to kill_

He should have died.

_to save his life_

They were brothers.

—_I didn't become an exorcist for revenge or whatever stuff like that!_**—**

They were brothers within a sea of azure flame.

—_I just want to become stronger!_**—**

Yukio's other hand reached out for the carrying bag on the table, and felt the grooves of the Kurikara beneath the weave. His eyes never drifted from the photo in his hands. There was no flame in the picture; there, Rin was not the son of Satan. There, Yukio was not the son of Satan.

There, they were both brothers, sons of the man called Fujimoto Shiro. So caught up in that flame, and the regulation of law, Yukio had forgotten.

_What do I do, father?_ he imagined himself asking.

Fujimoto Shiro's grin was all the answer.

* * *

"Sir Pheles," said Yukio, as he entered the lavish room. He ignored the trinkets and merchandise strewn around the floor, and wove through them to stand by the large desk by the window. Though it was still light outside, the heavy curtains were drawn.

Mephisto Pheles, dressed in a rather petite pink yukata, raised both eyebrows away from the manga between his fingers. He looked up past the feet on his desk. "Aah? Letting yourself into my office without asking, what**—**"

"_Sir Pheles,_" repeated Yukio.

"Ye~s?"

Yukio placed the Kurikara in his hands atop the desk; there was the _thunk_ of wood hitting wood.

"I would like you to do it," he said. Then, he bowed. "Please, revive my brother."

The manga was closed, only a finger between pages to mark that it had been read. There was no surprise in Mephisto's bored expression, leading Yukio to believe he'd expected the words all along. Without sitting up again, Mephisto snapped his fingers. A door to the side of the room opened.

Yukio stiffened.

If Igor Neuhaus noticed the reaction, he did not show it. The man wasn't wearing the exorcist uniform but a long coat over casual clothes; after he calmly strode across the floor to stand beside Yukio, then bowed to Mephisto, Yukio noticed several discoloured patches atop the weave and large amounts of dust and dirt.

Neuhaus inclined his head toward the Kurikara. "This is the demon-slaying sword?"

"The very same," said Mephisto. "Will you do it, even though it is Okumura Rin?"

"_No!_"

It was not Neuhaus that answered but Yukio. Yukio took a step forward and shot a sharp glare toward the former teacher's direction. There were nothing but worst case scenarios rushing through his mind.

"Answer me, Sir Pheles," said Yukio, fighting to keep his voice level and calm. "Are you truly saying that he**—**_that man_**—**will be the person reviving Rin?"

"Of course," came the reply. "There's no problem, is there?"

"_He tried to kill my brother._ I refuse."

"Then," said Mephisto, "I'm afraid you'll have to find your own solution."

"There's no way _you_ can do it yourself?"

"Nope." Mephisto reached across to the bowl of chocolate truffles on the table. "I'm very busy, you know."

Somehow, when he leant back into his armchair, propped the manga open against the legs still on the tabletop before eating two truffles at once, Yukio didn't believe him.

Yukio slammed his hands on the desk.

Mephisto ignored him.

Yukio scowled. "_Sir Pheles!_"

Mephisto began cleaning the inside of an ear with his little finger.

"What is it?" he said, dully. "Don't forget there's still a gamble going on, you know." Yukio faltered, and Mephisto smiled. "I can't give you _everything_. Neuhaus is perfectly capable on his own, as the apprentice of my apprentice. Or was that the apprentice of my apprentice's apprentic**—**"

"Okumura," said Neuhaus, and Yukio turned around. "I was the responsible for preserving Okumura's body to the state it is now."

Yukio's emotions must have shown on his face, as Neuhaus inclined his head and pulled thin his lips.

"You did not know," he stated.

"No," agreed Yukio.

"You are concerned about my grudge against Satan."

Yukio nodded. "I am."

"Do not fear," said Neuhaus. "This is a matter of professional honour. To sabotage a reanimation is to insult the generations of those before us who have perfected the art. And**—**as for the issue with Satan... my bloodlust is sated."

It was a long time that Yukio hesitated, that he paused, interrupted only by the metronome of steady chewing and pages flipping. He grabbed the Kurikara, as if expecting it to give him an answer.

There was nothing, of course. But the presence of _nothing_ had him remember Mephisto's comment about there being _something_. That Yukio was not yet sensitive enough to...

Yukio looked to Mephisto, and even though the man was engaged in the manga and had moved onto a packet of toffees, Yukio had a prickling sensation that Mephisto was still paying very careful attention.

Yukio picked up the Kurikara.

"Alright," he said. He handed the Kurikara across, and felt a sharp spear of discontent stab through his chest the instant it left his hands. Yukio bowed. "Please take care of him."

Neuhaus bowed back, and gripped the Kurikara safely between large palms. "I shall."

Behind the pages of the book, unnoticed by all, Mephisto Pheles smiled.

And time turned on.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_aaaah I'm seeing all these hits and it's so lonely. Emotional responses are just as valued as crit, yeah? What did you thinnnnnkkkkkkkk?_

_Please review? ;~;_


	5. and good intentions

_restless. beyond words. just gotta write... ugh, what is life. Yukio needed his character development arc in the anime, though. time for one more chapter... not happy with it but, not at all._

_is this the point i mention that i don't actually know anything about anything? ahahaha_ →_quality not guaranteed!_

**.**

**.**

**.**

_38. 39._

There were so many scratches on Okumura Rin's tombstone, he thought. So many scratches, so many pockmarks; as if even the mason knew of the foul truth hidden beneath blue eyes and blue hair, knew that Rin was_—had been—_a demon.

A demon... hidden amidst humans, but still nothing but the sanctimonious son of Satan.

(Even if Rin was not.)

_40. 41. 42._

Nobody cared about Okumura Rin, son of Satan, even after death. Nobody, and nothing. Where the world stopped for Fujimoto Shiro, when even the weather itself mourned, the weather of Rin's funeral shone in stark contrast. Yukio had known the reason why Rin forewent the umbrella when he stood before Fujimoto's grave, his body drenched, his suit and tie and the Kurikara soaked through. Yukio had known why, or many possibilities why, or even the truth that would never get an opportunity to ask.

But now he truly understood why Rin had rejected Nature's will, standing there in the full exorcist uniform and scorching beneath the sun's scrutinising rays. The seasons were shifting to winter, yet the sun still reared claws hidden behind colder days; at some point his body would overheat and he would be forced to leave. At least, until then, Yukio could grasp in his life rebellious control.

_43. 4..._

Falter; he'd forgotten how to count.

_44._

There were also many more people at Fujimoto's funeral, too. More than just himself. Though maybe that was because Fujimoto's death had been right before the school term. Maybe because Rin's came before both crucial Meister qualification exams and the deadline for promotion registration. Maybe because that was Yukio's own fault, because he'd never told anyone he was leaving. Mephisto said he'd handle it for him. Mephisto would take care of faking the ashes, and erasing him off the teaching roll, and arranging a long absence with the school. All so he could go off trying to help his brother.

Yukio'd let Mephisto handle everything for him.

Neither ever asked the other why.

Yukio'd given up counting when a breeze crawled through the cemetery, taking with it the last few red-gold strands atop the stone. The first gift to Rin, the only gift, once part of a lock of hair delivered by Shura's snake familiar. Of course Shura would find out somehow. The hidden mist knew all.

Yukio'd stand there for the next hour, watched surreptitiously by the other priests working at the monastery. He'd stand there in silent vigil, even after Sakamoto Yui delivered the only flower of the day and left just as quickly.

Yukio'd stand there because it was the only day he'd let himself remain standing. After all _– _there was an active gamble with Mephisto Pheles, with Rin's soul on the line.

Yukio'd stand there, because he'd decided. As slim as the chance would be... there would still be that infinitesimal chance for revival.

The moment he chose to walk away, everything would be for his brother.

Everything would be for the son of Satan.

**.**

**Azuer **:_K. N._

_5. and good intentions_

**.**

_I do not know how long it will take, Okumura. Souls are extremely delicate threads. Reanimation is a fragile balance between the planes of life and death. There is one facility that still possesses the necessary equipment and has not been found. I cannot risk taking you along._

_I cannot return to the Academy much more, thus I ask you to wait at my camp until my return._

_Please understand._

_..._

_I will be seeing you then. _

_With news of success, you say? _

_May the Lord be with him._

* * *

Camp was only a small van beside the burnt out remains of a campfire, across the river from True Cross Academy. When Yukio neared, he realised it wasn't deserted at all; the woman leaning against the van's side had only been huddled so small she couldn't be seen. Her dishevelled appearance, like Neuhaus's, too spoke of time away from the luxuries of civilisation.

_Snap._ The woman jerked her head up too sharply at the sound; Yukio looked down to see he'd stepped on a twig. He looked up again to see a fearful, wide eye tucked beneath blonde hair. Yukio slowed his approach and raised his hands.

"Hello," he said, recognising the kind tone. It had been a while since he'd been stationed at the consultation service, now that he bothered to recall. "Neuhaus_—_Igor Neuhaus asked me to come and wait for him here. I have... a note."

She took the proffered note with shaking fingers. The gaze she bore toward the scrawled map was still, unblinking, then she scrunched it into her fist and held it close to her chest. Slowly, as if unfamiliar with the action, she nodded. A small spider crawled from the collar of her shirt over her head and down her back.

"He... hello," she echoed. "Igor... said he would perform a reanimation today. Are you the relative?"

Yukio smiled. Reflexively. "I am. He... Neuhaus is working on my brother."

"I see. I_—_am Igor's betrothed, Michelle."

"It's nice to meet you, Michelle," said Yukio. He sat down near her and extended an arm. "My name is Okumura Yukio."

Michelle's eyes widened sharply. She jerked away, backing herself up the side of the van, feet clawing against dirt as a crab would scurry to shelter. There were more spiders now: tiny ones crawled around her legs as if drawing a magic circle on the ground; a few more climbed out from beneath long sleeves before hiding away again.

"T_—_then," she rasped, "your brother... S_—Satan...!_"

"Yes. Okumura Rin is my younger brother."

She hissed. "Igor_—he_... Why would he_—_"

"Maybe you should be asking a different question."

"...what?"

Yukio tucked his hands together _– _why, he didn't know. "Why am I still talking to you, Michelle, even though I know you're a demon?"

This time Michelle jumped to her feet. She took half a step backwards, then another. Her fingers flexed into claws, fell free, then flexed again, and the trail of spiders only lengthened. Yukio bowed his head; the action refracted light into his eyes. Perhaps foolishly in the face of such a threat, he did not reach for his pistols.

Something told him not to reach for his pistols.

Even if he knew he could (would) regret it later.

"How did you_—_" began Michelle, before taking a sharp breath between clenched teeth, "_how did you—?_"

"Igor Neuhaus has no relatives or family still alive," came the reply. "He is also a practitioner of _– _what do you call it? Reanimation? This is the only conclusion. You are only a corpse carrying a demon's soul."

"No! _No—!_ Don't_—_talk about what you don't know!"

"I know that Neuhaus has taken a phenomenal risk letting you even stay alive. He's taken a risk associating with you, a demon in human skin. He had a respectable job_—_he had many things, but now he has nothing. Please, do not blindly assume."

Something settled within her eyes. Yet, it was a while before she spoke again.

"You're the same, aren't you?"

Yukio blinked; "I'm...?"

"Igor used to tell me about you, you know. To try calm me down. That you were the youngest exorcist to be licensed, that you were even teaching beside him. How he envied your ability to attend high school, teach and carry out missions," she said. "Those words weren't empty. They were real. Echoes. Different from your smile."

"My smile?" he repeated, but he could feel it even as he opened his mouth to speak. The pulling of his lips over the edge of his teeth; how they remained there as if fixed into position, how the flesh would stretch around them whenever he formed words.

Pinned. Pinned to his face, to the bottom of his cheeks. It was true: Yukio had never known how to smile. (But he never needed to know, had he?)

"When I look at you I see blue flames," said Michelle, unexpectedly. Yukio froze; she continued. "Satan's flames. But... they don't burn. Yours are cold... empty. Only the heat still has to go somewhere_—_where does the heat go?"

"I_—_"

"No!" she shouted, holding her hands to her ears, scrunching her eyes closed. "It doesn't make any sense! How can Satan's flames be cold? Like ice_—ice! _Ice! _Snow—!_"

"_Michelle!_"

Yukio rose and reached out just as her legs collapsed beneath her feet. She was light _– _lighter than a normal human should have been. Under his grip, her skin was frail and her bones were prominent, threatening to break at the faintest touch. Balsa wood and rice paper.

Michelle tried to jerk away. Her efforts were futile.

"No," she muttered, "no, no. Let go_—_you're also related to Satan, _let go!_"

Yukio tried to ignore the affiliation, but they still clung too close for comfort, lithe, writhing parasites devouring his mind. Instead, ignoring what must have been hundreds of tiny legs from dozens of spiders crawling over his back and under his clothes, he preoccupied himself with attempts to help her stabilise again.

She continued.

"No... I hate you, go away! _I hate you—_"

He felt her stiffen first. Then her head slowly tilted back and wide purple eyes locked with aquamarine.

"That's_—_that's it," she breathed. "You locked the heat inside you! Your flames are the phoenix who'd grown too hot and started burning itself!"

"You're not making sense, Michelle," said Yukio.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why does the son of Satan hate himself?"

Somehow, Yukio managed to break the spell locking their eyes together and glanced away. "I don't hate myself."

"That's not true. _Why?_"

Yukio didn't look back at her; he merely let her go now that she'd regained the strength to stand. He was careful not to look at her again as he took a step away, facing the river instead, and began dusting his coat off. From where he stood, the view of True Cross Town was truly spectacular: a mountain of fragments and loose building blocks arranged haphazardly in ordered mess, buildings and structures of all shapes and designs and sizes.

"You hate yourself," said Michelle. "That's why the fire is cold, because it only burns you."

Yukio didn't answer.

"Is it because _you're_ a demon too, son of Satan? Is it because you don't want to be? Or is it because you were responsible for it?_—_ for your brother's death."

Yukio flinched.

"I was _not_ responsible for Rin's death," he snarled. "I did not do anything to_—_"

"But you wish you could have acted differently."

There was a long pause.

"...I do."

Another silence followed, filled only with distant sounds of human society.

"We..." began Michelle, slowly, "were to marry."

Yukio's eyes flickered across, but met only her fringe; only a veil of hair playing sanctuary.

"It was to be the day after the Blue Night," she said. "Igor had decided the Church's policies no longer mattered. Only our love."

"He was a priest?" asked Yukio.

"A priest-exorcist. Now he is just an exorcist. If he is still considered one. Regardless; Satan possessed him. I died by those blue flames."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Yukio blinked. Michelle turned to look at him, and she smiled. "Don't say things... just to say things. That was years ago."

Pause. Michelle sighed.

"There are still a few memories left, etched in this woman's mind," she said. "One is being killed by the fire. Another is her love _– _her devotion and her love. The last is a wish that she should never have visited the café along the way. So she never met Igor Neuhaus, so he wouldn't be in so much pain."

"You don't know that," said Yukio. "Neuhaus's choices were his own. He could have made the same decisions."

"Exactly. Then why do you regret?"

Yukio looked over. "You've stopped speaking as 'Michelle'."

"I was never 'Michelle'," said the demon. A spider clambered up to rest atop her head; beady eyes watched Yukio, though it did nothing more. "As you said. She is only a corpse; at some point, her body will die. They speak of the Heir in Gehenna, the awaited child who bears the Lord's flame. Your brother. Except... there is more than one Heir, isn't there?"

Yukio finally reached behind him for his pistol. He hadn't thought he could get away with it with the demon not noticing; he was more interested in the advantageous position that would follow.

He never anticipated the demon to raise an arm, nor the webs shooting from the palm. The sticky web blocked off the muzzle and wrapped around the shaft, binding the slide, rendering the weapon useless.

"Relax," said the demon. "This ik-to-mi cares not for the game of the cosmos. There's no fun at this point yet – oh no."

Yukio narrowed his eyes. He lowered the useless pistol regardless. "How did you see them?"

"Whilst it is impossible with only two eyes, spiders have eight," came the reply. Yukio watched as more spiders emerged, watched the tangled pile of legs when dozens of spiders began fighting for the best seat atop her head. "And I have a hundred. _—Ah!_"

Michelle stumbled. Her hair fell over her face. Yukio tried to help, but she rose to her feet by the time he sheathed the pistol away and he didn't need to do so. When she spotted him, she cringed and flinched away.

This was Michelle, not the demon. Somehow, Yukio could tell.

"It shouldn't be long until Igor gets back now," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Then... you can be with him. Both of you... two sons of Satan."

_That's what it always came back to, wasn't it?_ Yukio wanted to say. But it did. He'd spent too long mulling over the same; too long caught in the cycle of question and requestion, the cycle broken only when he stopped thinking.

When he stopped thinking... ?

_Heyyy, Yukio._

"When I was seven, my brother accidentally gave me some advice," said Yukio.

_What is it, Rin?_

Michelle, surprised at the non-sequitur, looked up. "Advice?"

_How do you think for so long…? Don't you get bored of circling?_

"Don't think in circles."

"_A—Ah? Circles—_"

"That was my own reaction exactly," said Yukio. The corner of his mouth quirked slightly_—_he would not call it a smile. " '_You start with something, think about it for a week then end up where you start. That's a circle._' Those were his words."

Yukio remembered how, immediately after that surprisingly deep statement, Okumura Rin ignored all his younger brother's protests when a distraction rose in the form of Fujimoto's return. It had only been an off-hand comment, yet it would be one Yukio remembered forever.

(He forgot though, didn't he?)

"It's a cycle, isn't it?" asked Yukio. "An endless questioning about Neuhaus's love linked with the cause of your death_—_" and here she flinched, "_—_and that linked with his role working on Rin's reanimation. But as there are good humans, there are cruel ones. Just as there are cruel demons, there are those with good in their heart. That's all it comes down to. Neuhaus truly loves you, Michelle."

Yukio smiled, despite the hellflames churning within his veins.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I won't hurt you unless you hurt me first."

There was no opportunity for her to answer. They heard the car first; the crunch of wheels atop gravel dwarfed by the loud, distinctive growl of a high-performance engine.

Michelle crouched behind the van so she wouldn't be seen, but the black sedan did not pass. It stopped in the middle of the track. Hazard lights flicked on, then shadows shifted within tinted windows. The door opened and a man wearing the dark exorcist's coat stepped out. He was bald, with a square face and squinty eyes despite the glasses perched atop his blocky nose.

Yukio tensed when the gaze was levelled in his direction, though he didn't know why, before walking forward to leave the van behind him.

The man studied Yukio intently for a moment, then inclined his head. "Mr. Okumura Yukio?"

Cautiously, Yukio nodded. "You are?"

"There is someone who would like to meet you."

**.**

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_did so much research... just for one line. writing aonoex fanfic: teaching existentialist agnostic authors more about religion. the more you know. (the more I know?)  
_

_i give up; i don't write to guilt-trip after all. review if you want, i guess. :/ they shall be rewards. So review if you like what you read, I suppose.  
_


	6. leading to hell

_Gargantuan, massive, super super shout out goes to __**HollyEmpire00**__ for helping with my kanji! (You'll see what I mean.) And Swift-Star, thanks for the review~ :)  
_

_So with doomsday tomorrow (for my access to the internet), here's an update. :P _→_quality not guaranteed!_

**.**

**.**

**.**

_"Mr. Okumura Yukio?"_

_"...You are?"_

_"There is someone who would like to meet you."_

* * *

"Please," said the unknown man. "Come with me."

Yukio did not move. "I asked you who you were."

"My apologies. I am Bourguignon. Yet who I am is not as important as who you are going to meet."

_It's a trap_, whispered some instinct buried deep within. Of course Yukio knew it was a trap; but instinct said the trap lay in the words and not in the situation.

Yukio walked into it.

"Who?" he asked.

Bourguignon's expressionless face hid the beginnings of a smile.

"Your grandfather."

**.**

**Azuer** :_K. N._

_6. leading →to hell_

**.**

Yukio did not know where they were going. The moment he'd stepped into the back of the car, and Bourguignon sat into the driver's seat, a darkened pane of glass rose to block his view and black shutters rolled closed over tinted windows. It was hard not to question the intelligence of his actions, but all Yukio could think of was how the man could drive without needing vision through the rear windshield and how, after years of wondering about his family, he would finally get some answers about his ancestry.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, a screen appeared against the glass behind the front seats. White text atop deep aquamarine: _Loading. Please wait. _

Yukio reached out a hand and only saw the shadow of his fingers on the image and the animated dots on the back of his palm. He swivelled around. Sure enough, a projector was mounted behind him. Beside it sat a small box with flashing lights.

A small light turned on above the screen. The text disappeared, replaced with the image of an elderly man. Yukio startled; it was not the silver hair or the faded red robes of the Vatican's Holy Court that caught his attention but the ivory mask behind a golden monocle. The mask added shadows beneath eyes, hinting of times long passed, hiding facets unseen. There was light cast against the man, a warm, golden light that could only be created by the sun. Still day then, perhaps. A day far sunnier than the grey skies outside.

Upon seeing Yukio, his face softened.

"I am Ernst Frederick Egin," said the man. "I'm glad to see you, my grandson."

Yukio opened his mouth to speak _– _he'd once come up with a list of questions memorised that he wanted to ask _– _but they were suddenly insignificant. The realisation was there; that man, Ernst Frederick Egin, was his grandfather.

"I am really sorry I had to meet you this way, and not in person," said Egin.

Though his intuition told him not to be hopeful, Yukio couldn't stop how he shifted closer to the screen. Perhaps to other eyes the distance may have been imperceptible, but to him, every millimetre felt like a thousand.

_Finally._

True family.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"I have my men keeping an eye on you to ensure your safety," came the reply. "Though Fujimoto named him your guardian, Mephisto Pheles is not to be trusted. Similarly I would meet you in person but I suspect Mephisto monitors those who use his keys and I cannot run the risk of being discovered." Egin smiled, and tiny crow's feet peeked out from beneath the mask. "They say boys take after their mothers. You really do resemble Yuri."

"Yuri?"

"Fujimoto didn't tell you?"

"No. Nothing."

"I see. My beautiful daughter, Yuri Egin."

He reached to the side, beyond the camera's reach, and returned with a photo frame. The picture was fuzzy though Yukio could make out the image of a young girl. Soft dark curls fell over an elegant dress, hands were clasped on her lap, and she faced the window with an expression difficult to see.

"Can you see?" asked Egin.

"Yes."

"Good, good," and as he spoke, he accidentally tilted the frame into the light so Yukio could only see white. "I'm not very good with this technology... I shall see if I get a picture sent over."

Yukio nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Call me 'grandfather'. Please. I have not spent the past fifteen years in confinement just to hear my grandson address me so stiffly."

"Sorry, grandfather." It was strange to finally use another familial word, especially with a man he'd barely known. "Confinement? Why?"

"Fifteen years ago there was a witch that conceived the children of a demon."

"Mother..."

"Precisely. To restore their authority, the True Cross confined all her relatives and burnt the witch to death."

"Witch hunts? In this era?"

Egin nodded solemnly. "The ways of the leaders haven't changed in the past six hundred years. Both you and your brother only managed to escape by virtue of Fujimoto Shiro, who'd claimed he'd brought about your deaths. You are fortunate to be raised by such a great man."

"Why couldn't you have contacted us earlier?" asked Yukio. "Then Rin could have met you too_—_"

"It is only because of Rin's death that meeting you became possible," came the terse reply. "Now the demon son is dead, it is not necessary to hide your relationship with the Egin family."

"How is that true?" snapped Yukio without thinking. "Are you implying that it's _better_ now that Rin is finally gone?"

"I never said such a thing_—_"

"The implications were there. _Grandfather._"

Egin's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. Disapproving. When he spoke, his voice was clipped and far more foreign.

"Fujimoto contacted me once," he said. "To give me a photo of my grandchildren. He also told me about you; that you were the nicer of the two. Quiet. Well-behaved. I see none of that right now."

Yukio's brow twitched, though his insides broiled. Yes; he was acting uncharacteristically. But this was a situation where he had the right, wasn't it? Everything was for Rin's sake after all.

_(A part of him still writhed at the words, unsettled, trying to fight against the rage and restore the status quo. Because he was the youngest exorcist _Okumura Yukio_, son of Paladin Fujimoto, because he had impressions he needed to make for the greater society... so why wasn't he—)_

"You are upset," said Egin. "Why? Do you think I'm wrong?" Yukio didn't reply; Egin continued. "It would always have been that way. You've noticed it too, haven't you? The Order is not what it once was _– _once a noble society, now merely puppets controlled by demons. Now they flinch at every mention of Satan's name. Now they are no longer fit to protect Assiah."

"But that's because the Blue Night_—_"

"The Blue Night I endured and survived. I may wear a mask, but you can still see them."

Yukio looked closer. Sure enough, what initially seemed like a shadow to the side of Egin's face was in actuality an ugly burn scar stretching from his cheek down to his neck.

"As a result of the Blue Night, the Order withdrew into itself," continued Egin. "But it is not through withdrawal that victory can be attained. You cannot win with a defensive war alone. We must take the offensive."

"The True Cross lacks the resources."

"The Egins are a noble family with a rich history. Though confined we still possessed enough assets for the creation of a factory _– _the Dragoon Laboratory. A research and development institute which has been studying holy weaponry for the past fifteen years. Over the past fifteen years, we have created enough weapons to arm each and every exorcist in the world threefold. And, we have created the _Messiah_."

"The Messiah?"

"A special missile. Once fired, it is capable of destroying Gehenna."

Egin smiled. He extended a hand, and as if scripted, the light shining onto him grew brighter in intensity. An ethereal aura of kindness, a path of divine guidance; a promise of a better future.

"I know why you live, grandson," said Ernst Frederick Egin. "You live in the guilt created through failure. I am the same."

Yukio did not speak. Faintly, he noted the car was no longer moving.

"Join me," said the man of light. "Together, let us take vengeance on the demons which ruined our lives forever."

* * *

He opened his eyes.

It hadn't been easy, with stiff eyelids that were pinned to his eyeballs. His nerves took a while before they were able to transmit messages back to his brain from his senses _– _and it took a while before he noticed his brain actively processing them. How long, he didn't know, with no clocks and only a heartbeat to count the time.

_Everything needs to be defrosted_, he thought, the image of frozen meat in his mind, solid and cold with tiny little white ice crystals and very much unwelcoming. He wasn't really sure whether the frozen state was due to temperature or if he was just stiff because there hadn't been blood through his tissues for so long.

Because he'd restarted his count at least five times, he only managed to reach twenty-one before he was ready to stop staring at the bunk above him. Sitting up was difficult, but doable. But it was when the blanket slipped off that he was finally aware of his nakedness; with only a pair of boxers that hung so low so as not to constrict his tail, he may as well not be wearing anything at all. Everything was sore, everything complained, and he was propped up geometrically for some time before he gathered enough energy to lift his head and look around.

It wasn't long before he spotted the demon in the white suit, sitting in an armchair that looked far cosier than the thin mattress beneath him.

Mephisto Pheles put the teacup back into its saucer and snapped a pocket-watch open.

"Twelve minutes and fifty-seven seconds," he said. "What a _phenomenal_ time, Okumura Rin. As to be expected of demon regeneration."

Rin_—_because that was his name, yes?_—_was only capable of a blank stare. Slowly but surely his other senses returned to full function. He coughed when his throat tingled, then startled at the sound.

"What... happened?" he asked.

"Amaimon broke your soul," came the flippant reply. "Once it was mended your body was put through reanimation."

Rin nodded absently to show he'd heard. He wasn't paying complete attention, he didn't feel like paying complete attention, and instead finished looking around. Something in memory sparked when he spotted the suitcase on the ground; he was in the dorm he shared with his brother, and he was lying on his bed. Yet... his brother was not the only person missing.

Mephisto was the only person there.

He didn't notice the frown on his face; Mephisto did.

"Disappointed?" asked Mephisto.

Rin blinked. "...No. Where is_—_?"

"Yukio?"

"The man."

Mephisto had been about to take another sip when he froze, teacup still attached to his mouth, then he slowly lowered it again. "You were able to sense Neuhaus before the final stage?"

"...what?"

Rin did not receive an answer. Mephisto merely shook his head to himself and sighed. "I'm not sure whether it's you, Fujimoto, or the Okumura brothers who are the most dangerous and stupid..."

"Huh?"

Not needing a reply, Mephisto rose to his feet. He snapped his fingers, there was a large plume of pink smoke, and when it dissipated both the cutlery and the armchair were gone. Green eyes flashed toward the windows, Rin looked and saw the curtains were drawn, then in the very next instant Mephisto had closed the gap between them_—_and Rin found a long finger lifting his chin into the air.

"What are you_—_"

Rin found his head jerked to one side.

"You need to be changed," said Mephisto, so close Rin could feel the breath tickling his ear.

"_Sa—_"

"_Shh._"

The urgency behind the shush had Rin comply without thinking. Mephisto turned his head to inspect the other side of his face; it was painful when the nail drove into the skin, but not unbearable. Rather, he was more worried about how Mephisto's fringe was brushing his nose and resisting the urge to sneeze.

"Reviving the dead is somewhat of an illegal sport," said Mephisto, by way of explanation.

He released the chin and straightened again moments before Rin did sneeze, and began searching in his pockets. Finding nothing, he reached for the white tophat on Rin's desk and reached inside.

"So what_—_"

"From this moment forth, you are Konokawa Ryu," said Mephisto. He pulled out a slim folder containing a sheaf of papers and threw it to Rin. "Those are your new legal documents. What was it you were about to say?"

Rin blinked, putting the folder down. "Wait_—what?_"

"_Earlier,_" said Mephisto. "After I_—_"

Footsteps.

They were growing louder, nearer. Mephisto removed his hand and snapped his fingers again. This time the smoke was yellow. It disappeared as soon as the door to the room opened. The very familiar person that stepped inside stopped as soon as he entered.

"Sir Pheles!" exclaimed Yukio. "What are you doing here_—_and with..."

Rin watched as Yukio's shoulders stiffened, his eyes widened, and his feet took half a step forward. Then, as if changing its mind, it slid half a step back again.

"_...Rin?_"

Rin mustered the willpower to wave. "Heya, Yukio."

Yukio's mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

Rin grinned. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"_Rin! _I_—_"

"I hate to interrupt this _touching_ reunion," said Mephisto, "but you would do good to remember where Okumura Rin is said to be now."

It was visibly that Yukio sobered, returning to his senses. With a confident nod he closed the door behind him.

"That disguise is not enough," said Yukio. "His eyes are obvious."

"...What disguise?" asked Rin.

"I believe Neuhaus instructed you to remain with his wife," Mephisto said to Yukio, disregarding Rin altogether. "Why did you return?"

"I forgot something," came the reply, unexpectedly smooth. "Did you know his wife is also a demon?"

"What disguise?" asked Rin, again.

Mephisto's eyes narrowed. Still, he reached into his hat again and pulled out an ornate silver mirror. The mirror was handed across to Rin, who almost didn't recognise the bright yellow hair. Rin blinked into the mirror, and the canary-haired Rin did the same. Rin pulled a face, and the canary-haired Rin pulled it too.

Okay, it was definitely him.

Mephisto snapped his fingers, and then there was a floating shortcake beside a cup of tea.

"I didn't want any interruptions," he said, "and I dislike wasting my abilities on things as trivial as a false alarm."

Rin snorted. "You mean you just wasted a prank again."

Mephisto's lips tightened across the fork in his mouth in a dissatisfied half-pout, though his eyes were fixed on Rin in a way distinctly uncomfortable.

"Give him the documents," said Mephisto, indicating Yukio.

With a sigh, Rin swapped the mirror in his hands for the folder and rose to his feet. Walking was much easier than he expected. He could feel his tail swishing from side to side, and soon enough he'd crossed the floor. Then Rin flung the folder to Yukio before sitting down.

"Here."

Yukio took it with the same strange expression he'd had since Mephisto started eating. Then he flipped the folder open.

"_Konōkawa Ryū?_" he exclaimed incredulously. "_That's_ what you were after."

"It's always your decision to accept my generosity or to leave it," said Mephisto.

"Yes, but_—blue fire?_"

"Embers."

"There's no difference with sulphur involved!"

Rin shrugged. "What's wrong with sulphur?"

"E_—Everything!_"

"That's a full set of legal documents there, as I'm sure you can tell. Family register, address, passport..." Mephisto raised an eyebrow. "You may use it, or you can choose to deal with any trouble on your own."

Yukio had found the passport and flipped to the identification page. "He looks nothing like the photo."

"He will," said Mephisto. "_That_ was what I was doing before you butt in. Now, will you use the name?"

Yukio looked to Rin, eyes searching for an answer. Rin stared blankly. Then Yukio sighed, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes with the back of an arm.

"...Fine," said Yukio. "But _Ryu_ has a softer face and maroon eyes. Rin's eyes are blue. I don't know how you expect to do this through contacts and bleaching."

"Bleaching?" said Rin. He perked up from his seat. "_Actually_ bleaching?"

Mephisto's smile returned, and he leant forward.

"There are _more_ ways to change an appearance than simply with contacts and bleaching," he said. "_Eins, Zwei, Drei!_"

* * *

"I wasn't expecting you to visit before Okumura Yukio returned."

At some point the clouds had gathered in the dispirited grey sky and it had started raining. Beneath the umbrella which was too small to shelter his entire body, Mephisto Pheles was unfazed.

"Okumura Yukio has indeed returned," said Mephisto. "But it is to the academy, not here, so you may go. Did you know Okumura Rin was aware of your presence?"

"He spoke during asphyxiation," said Neuhaus. He was seated within the van, speaking to Mephisto with the window down, the steady _tap-tap-tap_ of the rain on the roof echoing his words. "I did open his eyes during the sensory check, but I did not think he was able to see."

"How... _interesting_. What did he say?"

" '_Who are you?_'; I presume it's a lingering thought."

"Perhaps so." Mephisto peered into the van. "Is she here?"

Neuhaus nodded. "She is. That's why you sent him, isn't it?"

"To meet with me?"

Michelle leant over the centre console from her seat so she was draped over Neuhaus, folded her arms atop the open window and rested her head against them. Sharp purple eyes looked up at Mephisto, unaffected by the steadily dwindling rain.

"Am I not right, Samael?" she asked.

The grin on Mephisto's face widened. "Ah, so the demon speaks. Yes, Samael is I. You are?"

"An unimportant spider-man," came the reply. "As for what you want to know, it's true. Okumura Yukio has potential to be an Heir. Though he has a ways to go _– _his wordplay is there, but it's still only basic and fairly easy to overthrow."

"What about the flames?"

"I didn't see him use any."

"Come, now," said Mephisto. He leant closer, and his grin bore fangs. "You _know_ that's not what I'm after."

"I can only tell you what I see. This body merely has two eyes, after all."

Mephisto huffed, but did not ask more. She lifted a hand to her ear and a spider crawled onto her finger. The finger was poked through the window to rest on Mephisto's nose; the spider crawled off grey skin and up into his hair.

"Take it for the ride," she said. "I want to know what happens."

"Only if the gods cannot use it to interfere."

The demon calling itself Michelle smiled. "What do you take me for?"

"A trickster, _anansi_."

Michelle waved and disappeared with a grin. When his legs were free again, Neuhaus brushed the few remaining small spiders off his knees.

"Why her?" asked Neuhaus, softly.

There was no rain to muffle his speaking now.

"There is no why," said Mephisto. "There is only circumstance."

"The Gates of Heaven_—_"

"Are a lie."

"Because you've been there."

"Exactly," said the demon. "I have yet another request to ask: will you be willing to return as a teacher?"

"So that woman is still missing."

"She is... that Kirigakure Shura."

Neuhaus's eyes flickered to Michelle. "I apologise, sir. I cannot return to True Cross Academy."

Mephisto closed his umbrella. He flicked it in a circle to toss away the spray.

"Very well, then," he said. "Thank you for your aid."

"My debts are repaid?"

"Both for reanimation and for the knowledge of. Consider the accommodation as being part of teaching at my school," came the reply. "You are free to go... I bid you farewell."

Neuhaus bowed. There was a flash of pink smoke, and then a small white dog had run and gone.

* * *

_Who... are you?_

_Johann Faust IV, at your service. That was your loved one, I presume?_

_...Michelle! You—how did you—quickening no longer works—_

_Ah, yes. 'Quickening.' Absolutely atrocious. For reanimation to fall to alchemy, what a stain._

_Reanimation? But the Institute's files were burnt hundreds of years ago!_

_You're mistaken. A little spark cannot stop those files' creator._

_...Who are you?_

_A demon who will teach you _true_ reanimation._

* * *

"Okumura Yukio's degeneration has started."

Mephisto heard the voice, but did not turn around. He simply shook his shoulders free of sleeves before handing his coat to his waiting servant. The servant bowed before promptly disappearing.

"Why so disappointed?" drawled Mephisto. "It was to happen eventually."

"You think this is related to the Kurikara?"

"Completely? Most likely not. He couldn't feel his brother's soul."

Silence was the only reply.

Lazily, Mephisto turned around. "Why so concerned? It's too early for the flames to have manifested, after all."

A long pause.

"Don't forget the rules your side agreed to adhere to," said the other. "God is always watching, as am I."

The door opened and closed without a sound; they left the room. Alone, there was no need to hide the growing, fiendish grin.

"You forget, dear brother," said the demon. "To us, rules are _made_ to be broken."

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Konōkawa Ryū, for those interested: _紺燠川 硫 _(Thanks Holly~~)_

_As always I take an open stance and am willing to elaborate on anything if you ever want me to, so feel free to ask. Though Death of the Author means if you're patient enough and it's important enough it should appear eventually anyway._

_Review, uh, I guess? c':_


	7. transgress

_Quick notice that HollyEmpire00's looking for more work to beta. If anyone's got anything, feel free to PM her :)_

_Thanks for reviewing, Swift-Star, Hime-no-Umi and Dimwit~ Special mention goes to Dimwit (and consequently Gecko) for helping with my whimsical Latin, and Swift-Star for beta-checking despite a busy schedule. Love you all._

_Also... I should mention that I _really_ don't like the idea of applying manga!Takara to anime!Takara (see: final battle) so instead you'll have some original interpretation with manga influences scattered within._

_let's go! →quality not guaranteed!_

**.**

**.**

**.**

_"There are more ways to change an appearance than simply with contacts and bleaching," said Mephisto. "Eins, Zwei, Drei!"_

* * *

There was another poof of smoke, this time white. When it dissipated, Rin blinked. Nothing had changed. Yukio, however, stiffened and reached behind him for his gun.

"What did you**—**"

"Eyes do not always show the truth," said Mephisto. "Yet in a world of multiple senses, is directly affecting the brain not a much better approach than merely masking what truly exists?"

Rin had crawled back to where he'd dropped the mirror at this point, and swore when he caught sight of his reflection. Where canary-haired Okumura Rin was still noticeably Okumura Rin, the blonde in the image looked nothing like him. Yukio's description returned to his mind, maroon eyes and a rounder face, and as Rin tilted his head to see how far the differences extended he was reminded of Mephisto turning his head earlier.

Self-consciously he rubbed his jaw**—**and finally noticed the ears that were very little demon and very much human.

Mephisto rummaged in his hat **– **this time, finding what he was looking for, his arm withdrew with a silver band between his fingers.

"This shall be your last favour, Okumura Yukio **– **after this, you are alone," continued Mephisto. "Konokawa?"

Rin blinked; "Yeah?" The name was really weird.

Mephisto tossed the silver band to him.

"Put that on."

"What's it?"

"A means of using your own energy to sustain the illusion, rather than my own. Be mindful: the stronger the minds you come to face, the more energy you'll need. Oh," he added, once it was clicked on, his eyebrows going up, "that looks _quite_ good on you, Konokawa."

Mephisto snapped his fingers and all other conjured objects disappeared.

"You are still expected when school begins on Monday. Have fun staying undercover~" and here Mephisto's smirk widened; "Oh, this'll be a show! _Let the game begin!_"

**.**

* * *

— **part two: meomyr —**

* * *

**.**

**Azuer **:_K. N._

_7. they do not know this_

**.**

The news that they were finally to have a class on circles and sigils ever since the mission authorisation test did not go lightly. Gossip was plentiful, swarms of flies swarming around those affiliated with the cram school and even materialising into momentary bursts of confusion in those who weren't. So it was that Sunday afternoon that six exwires took their usual seats within their usual classroom, having only received the notice less than twenty-four hours before that class was indeed on, and waited for Kirigakure Shura to arrive.

Except, when the door slammed shut behind the person who'd entered, Kirigakure Shura did not appear.

"I am Kaede Prinshild," said the woman in the front of the room. "Upper Second Class."

She was a female exorcist, she wore the jacket of the Japanese branch, but that was where her similarities with Shura began and ended. Where Shura's hair was long, fiery, Prinshild's was droll and brown and kept strictly short in both fringe and length. She spoke with a foreign accent through thin lips on a long face. There was no skirt, no belt on the coat; only rough cargo pants tucked into the mouth of combat boots and buttons closed over a figure curveless and bulky. A scattering of hair pins were affixed to both sides of the raised collar. Her license was in one hand, stamped with the Italy branch's seal. The name on the license was hidden by her fingers.

Shiemi raised a hand, then faltered when a strong gaze turned her way.

"Yes?" asked Prinshild.

"Your license... says you're Middle First? Um, ma'am!"

Prinshild's lips pinched disapprovingly. "The Upper Class ceremony is tomorrow. They will be presenting new licenses there." She turned away to face the class, tucking the license into one of the flap pockets on her pants, and did not notice Shiemi's faint sigh of relief. "I understand this class used to be taught by Kirigakure Shura," continued Prinshild. "Understand I am nowhere as lenient. How many of you are Tamers?"

Shiemi and Izumo both raised their hands, one more hesitantly than the other.

"Your familiars?"

"Two Byakko," said Kamiki.

Prinshild nodded. "Fine. You, girl?"

"A-ah, Moriyama Shiemi," came the stammered reply. "And my familiar is Nii. A... Greenman."

"And is that your only Meister?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Look into getting an offensive skill set," said Prinshild.

Shiemi's eyes widened. "O—_Offensive?_"

" 'And the angel of destruction descended from the heavens: he with wings of gold, swords of fire and radiant image pure as snow. And in his hands, the true cross, in his words, knowledge, and unto humankind he bestowed the means by which demons may be slain.' Order, chapter 1, verse 6-7. Job chapter 1, 21: 'What the Lord gives the Lord can take away.' It is only in the past six hundred years that the Lord has gifted us holy weaponry. You would do good to use His gift while it's still given."

"I—"

"Whilst doctors and non-combatants have their roles on the battlefield, you are a Tamer that requires protection. Ensure you are not dead weight."

Shiemi simply blinked, nodded, and bowed her head to hide her eyes. She missed Rin, she thought. He would have been able to make things cheerier if he were still there.

Prinshild's gaze slid over toward the three from Kyoto. "Meisters?"

"Aria," said Shima.

"Aria," echoed Miwa.

"Ah**—**Aria," said Suguro, uncharacteristically surprised. "And Dragoon."

"Aria. That's fine," said Prinshild. She turned to Suguro. "How is Dragoon training? Who is your master?"

Suguro shook his head. "I don't have one. I was going to finish training for Aria first. Then I wanted to ask Okumura-sensei."

It soon became apparent when Prinshild's mouth twisted that, despite her stiff, expressionless appearance, that would be the location for identifying non-verbal cues. It was as soon as Suguro mentioned Yukio that the corners of Prinshild's mouth turned down.

"Very well," she said, simply. She spun toward Takara seated in the corner. "Your Meister?"

Takara didn't reply.

Prinshild strode to the side of his table, in large steps that echoed off the walls. "I asked you your Meister, boy."

"I don't see why I have to tell _you_, woman," said the bunny.

Prinshild slammed a hand on the desk. "I will ask you once more. _Name and Meister._"

No reply.

"There is zero point to being secretive. Knowledge of one another's strengths is vital in combat situations," said Prinshild. "I am now your _sensei_. You will do as I say."

"Takara. He's training to be a Tamer," offered Kamiki from across the room.

"Tamer?" repeated Prinshild. Rather than the answer being satisfactory, her lips thinned further and she spun back to Takara. "Summon your familiar, boy. If you won't tell me, then show me."

"_Golems!_" screeched the bunny. "Golems are golems! Golems are golden and and summon and slee**—**"

Prinshild raised her hand and slammed it on the desk again. "Boy. _Summon your familiar._"

At first there was no indication that Takara had heard, if he had heard at all. Then he rose to his feet. Rather than walking out of the room, however, he made the Sign of the Cross with his right hand; the puppet moved across his shoulders then down his chest from his head. Then he pinned a slip of paper to the bunny's open mouth, a summoning circle, and held the bunny outstretched before him.

"Summon," said Takara, tonelessly. Shiemi was sure she wasn't the only one who jumped at hearing his real voice. "With these four points I bind thee to my will. _Ette!_"

There was a single spark. The spark became a flame, growing at exponential rates, and then a golem of flickering reds and golds stood atop the floor.

Takara turned to face Prinshild. Shiemi wondered if it was her imagination when she saw the golem turn at the same time.

"Djinn," said Takara. "Fire spirit that cannot take form without possessing a clay golem. This is my familiar. Next time, ensure you obey Sir Mephisto Pheles's instructions, _Prinshild-sensei_."

"Sir Pheles...?" Suguro muttered under his breath.

There was no response except the closing of the bunny's mouth. The Djinn disappeared, and Takara ripped off the circle before sitting back down.

"And there you go," the bunny snarled. "Happy?"

Teeth clenched, Prinshild nodded. She stalked stiffly back to the front of the room as if her movements were stimulated by a wound-up coil.

"_Signa intermedia_, page three," she said. "Chapter one."

There was no book in her hands. The cue, however, was all the exwires needed, as there was suddenly a flurry of delving into piles and the flipping of pages throughout the room.

"Please read for the next thirty minutes in silenc**—**" Prinshild stopped when Kamiki raised a hand. "Yes?"

"We've already covered chapter one," said Kamiki.

"And chapter two?"

"Yes."

"Then back to basics," said Prinshild. "I do not trust Kirigakure Shura with any form of education."

"But Neuhaus-sensei already covered them before he left**—**"

"Irrelevant. Solid foundation of the basics is essential to mastering any form. You will read. If you do not read, you will read for homework, or you will fail this course. Please begin."

* * *

"Ah, man!" moaned Renzo. "Chapter one _again?_"

Prinshild-sensei had left them well before classes ended. There had been none of Prinshild's belongings left in the room, nothing to indicate she would return **– **and she'd hadn't **– **yet by some unspoken word, none of the exwires even stood up to leave though the teacher was gone, or closed their books and chosen to nap instead. Even if Takara began fiddling with the puppet again, but that was standard behaviour.

After all, Okumura Rin was gone.

Renzo stretched dramatically as the three of them returned to the boys' dorms.

"This sucks," he said. "And she's flat! At least Kirigakure-sensei had a nice pair to look at while she**—**"

"Not _again_, Shima," said Konekomaru. "That's scandalous."

There was a shrug. Sort of. "Yeah, well... is she gonna make us read every lesson or what?" Renzo's gaze flickered to Ryuji. "You've been silent a bit, Bon. What's on your mind?"

The answer was not immediate; Ryuji merely tightened his grip around the red carry-bag on his back and the sword hidden within. The Kurikara, unreturned.

"Prinshild-sensei misquoted," he said.

Konekomaru started. "_Misquote?_"

"Job 1:21," came the reply. " 'The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.' "

"You've memorised Job?" said Konekomaru. "We skipped from Kings!"

"What did Prinshild-sensei say?" asked Renzo.

" 'What the Lord gives the Lord can take away.' "

"Same thing. There're a million different translations, you're looking too much into it," said Renzo. "Doesn't matter if she's not an Aria. I wonder what Meister she is anyway... oh, we're here."

But even as they headed inside, even throughout the afternoon and into the night, the furrow between Ryuji's brows did not disappear.

* * *

"Excuse me!" called Yukio, as he entered through the doorway.

The shop was as it always was. Space was tight, much smaller inside than it appeared to be from afar. Rows and rows of books and drawers lined the sides of the room and bushels of leafy plants and flowers were tucked into whatever spaces that could still be found. A wall of glass bottles, all different shapes and colours and sizes, forced an already small pathway to split into two. The sharp tang of dirt outdoors was replaced by musky wood, almost overwhelming; shades of browns and greens bloomed with welcoming warmth that could be called suffocating.

At the counter, Shiemi perked up. "Yuki!"

"Good afternoon," said Yukio. "Oh**—**you're in uniform? Did you have cram school today?"

"Yes! They finally found a new teacher to teach seals. Prinshild-sensei isn't bad."

Yukio nodded, though he didn't know who Prinshild was. "And Anti-Demon Pharmacology?"

"Ah, Tsubaki-sensei's taken over for now. But..." Shiemi looked down. "I kind of miss you, Yuki."

"Sorry, Shiemi."

"It's okay. I know that... I know you're sad. Yuki...?"

"Yes?"

Shiemi tucked small hands into her lap. He didn't expect her head to shoot up, nor the resolute eyes that met his surprised.

"Nobody knew about Rin's funeral," she said. "You said... you didn't tell us because it wasn't important. But**—**_I think it's important!_ You're not the only person who misses Rin! I**—**I wanted to thank him..."

The knife pierced his chest.

"I'm sorry, Shiemi," came the reply. "I... merely thought you would be better off not knowing. Forgive me; I suppose I was in too much grief to think clearly."

He wasn't lying. It wasn't the truth either, but it wasn't a lie. How could he lie to her... to Shiemi?

(But why did he feel like he'd betrayed her somehow?)

"I know," said Shiemi. Her smile radiated the sun_(_**—**_though it wavered, heartbeat unsteady _– corners forced_)_. "I forgive you. That's okay. Come back soon, alright?"

Yukio nodded. The knife twisted. "I'll do my best," he said. "Now, I'll need to buy some more bullets."

"Yes! Of course!" Shiemi hurriedly flipped open the notebook on the table, and picked up the pen lying beside it. "Just the usual blessed silver-jackets?"

"Five dozen. Would you have any simunition rounds in store?"

She shook her head. "No... we don't stock those. You'll have to visit the armoury. Five dozen blessed silver-jacket bullets, .45 caliber, right? Is that all, Yuki?"

"Yes. Thank you, Shiemi."

"A**—**ah, no problem! Really... I should thank you," she said.

"Thank me?"

A cheery nod; an eager fall and rise by a head of blonde hair. This time her happiness was real – undoubtedly so.

"Thank you for talking about yourself, Yuki!"

The knife began to bleed.

"...You're welcome."

* * *

It was with bored eyes that Rin stared across the room, at the Kurikara hung within the wardrobe. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, unmoving, but it was long enough that knuckles digging into his cheek were really annoying and long enough that his tail had begun swishing just because of sheer boredom.

Yukio said not to go near it, so all he could do was stare.

Several schoolbooks were sprawled across the floor of his bed, books Yukio had left behind for him to read but each deemed too dull to continue. Earlier, Ukobach tried to invite him so they could make dinner together, but after less than an hour passed it was soon obvious Rin wasn't in any mood for cooking either. Something in him didn't feel up to it; a strange, niggling sensation.

There was more to life than cooking all day**—**he needed excitement! Chaos! _Something!_

...

Yukio said not to go near it.

...

Rin sighed, though it was more a grumble. He started fiddling idly with the metal band on his wrist, running his fingers along the grooves and playing absently with the sensation of metal in contact with his skin.

Yukio said not to leave the dorms, even though Rin had the disguise. Right before _Yukio_ left to go do some whatever thing he felt like, leaving Rin to stay inside.

_Yukio said..._

Oh, to _hell_ with Yukio.

Rin rose to his feet. He strode across the room, picked up the Kurikara, then returned to sit back on his bed. Especially, of all the things Yukio'd said before he left, he'd told Rin not to draw the blade. Multiple times.

Only, thought Rin, Yukio got it fixed but it still felt broken and so, so _wrong_. But why?

The door opened the moment Rin unsheathed the sword. Rin turned to the doorway and saw Yukio's frozen form and the golden bridge leading to Shiemi's house behind him.

Rin blinked, guilelessly, and quickly sheathed the Kurikara again.

It didn't change the fact that there had been no flame.

**.**

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**.**

_Next update may be delayed, life's going to pick up very shortly.  
_

_Drop a line? :)_


	8. time and space

_Thanks to Hime-no-Umi, jenoker and A for the reviews. (A, dear, you flatter me;; __(*´~__`*)__ thank you very muchly times a billion, i wish i could reply.)_

_It's been a while, I'll let the chapter do the talking. Quick reminder this is all animeverse characterisation~_

_Beta'd by Swift-Star9. Thank you!  
as for me... (because oh, how true) →Quality not guaranteed!_

**.**

**.**

**.**

"R... Rin?" said Yukio, hesitantly, as he stepped into the room.

When Yukio's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as if trying to see through deep fog, Rin felt the band against his wrist warm. It was not long before Yukio's eyes widened as he finally processed the situation.

"The flames," he breathed. "The flames are gone."

"_Ding ding_," said Rin. "Give the man a prize!"

As he stepped forward, Yukio frowned. But he said nothing more even after he closed the door and moved to place the box in his hands atop the nearby counter. Rin glanced down at the Kurikara and drew it again. The blade was shiny, certainly, especially considering it had been melted and then forged again, but even he could see the grain was not as fine as the old Kurikara had been and the pattern not as beautiful.

Now, it was a broken shadow. Nothing special.

Noticing Yukio's gaze, Rin sheathed it and tossed it onto the bed behind him. Languidly he rose to his feet, then flexed his toes and stretched his arms and spine.

"So?" asked Rin. "Where'd you go?"

"I went to buy supplies," came the reply. "More importantly, Rin—er, Ryu, you should still be resting_—_"

"I'm _fine_." He cast a lazy eye to the shadows under which the Kurikara lay. "Flames? Beh, as if I need that."

Yukio still had that frown on his face, however, the one that meant _I'm smarter than you_ or _I'm busy thinking so don't bother me_. Rin didn't even bother trying to _think_ about bothering him.

"You should still rest, Ryu," Yukio ended up saying once his thinking marathon was over. "You also need a new sword – the Kurikara can no longer be used as a weapon. I'll deal with it soon. School starts tomorrow, will you be ready?"

"Ready?" asked Rin. Though his grin was all straight teeth and too human due to the illusion, there was an edge of devilry within wrong maroon eyes. "Believe me, I'm _beyond_ fucking ready."

* * *

_In exchange for my assistance, the gamble is thus: If you are able to keep your activities undiscovered, of reanimation and all consequences following, you will win. If not, you will fail. _

_Upon the skies of Hell and the depths of Heaven, the word of Gehenna and the ceaseless cosmos, let this contract be bound._

_Remember, Okumura Yukio. If you lose, your soul is mine._

**.**

**Azuer **:_K. N._

_8. time and space_

**.**

"The name's Konokawa Ryu," said the boy at the front of the room. "Attending this here second semester from the far reaches of Hell."

The jagged grin on Konokawa Ryu's face did not slip, not once, and even his bow from the waist – despite its depth – was more mocking than sincere. He did not seem to mind the stares that came from having blonde hair or maroon eyes, hair decidedly natural and unbleached; rather, if the slouch, untucked shirt and loose tie were any indication, he embraced the delinquent's demeanour.

Konekomaru decided that, unless Konokawa Ryu had something incredible and endearing up his sleeve, he didn't really like him.

Konokawa tucked his hands into his pockets when he straightened again. "Please treat me kindly."

After the sensei pointed to the empty seat a few rows in front of him, and after Konokawa Ryu dropped into Okumura Rin's old spot as if he owned the place and proceeded to cross his legs atop the table...

As instructions were scolded for the feet to be put down, Konekomaru decided he didn't really like Konokawa Ryu after all.

* * *

Lunchtime.

"_—_I told'ja, I've been in Hell since I was born."

Konekomaru and Renzo had been sitting near the East Bridge; Ryuji had to do some Dragoon research so the two were alone. As Konokawa passed, neither minded, yet neither expected the newcomer to head toward them and wave off the crowd around him.

"Yo!" he called to them, the two loners, grinning. "I'm Konokawa Ryu, just transferred here. But you know me," he added, glancing down to Konekomaru.

Konekomaru hid the shiver playing about his spine. That gaze was far too piercing for a casual glance, by glassy eyes that shone amaranth outdoors and reflected too much light for someone so harsh. Of their class full of so many, Konokawa had to remember _him?_

"Shima Renzo," came the introduction in turn. Konekomaru felt a hand force down his shoulder and winced. "This's Miwa Konekomaru."

"That your name, huh?" murmured Konokawa, still staring. Konekomaru remembered how to breathe when the eyes turned up to look at Renzo instead. "Nice hair."

Renzo smiled. "Thanks. See, Koneko, _someone_ thinks it's decent_—_"

The look in Renzo's eyes changed when their eyes met. Renzo blinked, hesitated, he broke off his words; Konekomaru couldn't thank him enough when the subject was changed.

"Konokawa, are you lost? Looking for anyone?" asked Renzo.

Konokawa lazily waved a hand, glanced to Konekomaru again strangely. "Call me Ryu. Really." A shrug. "Don't worry about it, don't think four-eyes turned up today."

"Four-eyes?"

"Yeah, eh... Okumura Yukio."

Renzo started. "Okumura _was_ here. He disappeared after second period though, some emergency or another."

"Huh. Never told me."

A flash of light caught Konekomaru's attention, and he noticed Ryu aimlessly scratching the skin beneath a silver bracelet. Ryu caught his staring and raised an eyebrow.

"Like it?" he asked.

"...wearing jewellery is against school rules," said Konekomaru.

Ryu shrugged. "Whatever. Director gave it to me anyway. You guys free in the afternoon?"

"Eh?"

"We could hang out," said Ryu. "Pick up some chicks, you know."

To his discredit, Renzo actually looked hopeful. "_Really?—_"

"We have class," said Konekomaru.

"_—_Oh," said Renzo. "Can't. Sorry."

"...Right. Forgot you exorcists had cram school."

Before either Konekomaru or Renzo had the chance to articulate their surprise, Ryu's attention was directed away. Ryu hopped back, gave Renzo and Konekomaru a wave and a cheeky "_Later!_", then ran after a freshman with bleached hair walking past.

"Hey, you look like a cool guy!" they heard him say. "Shiratori, eh? Nice t'meet cha – the name's Konokawa Ryu."

And for a while, there was silence.

"...Shima," said Konekomaru.

" 'Sup?"

"Please don't talk to him anymore."

"Ryu? Why?"

Konekomaru shook his head silently. Konokawa Ryu reminded him of people unpleasant. Whenever Konekomaru closed his eyes, looked away, he heard _Okumura Rin_. A demon acting as demons should always be. (Except, Rin was never a delinquent, was he?)

Instead, Konekomaru changed the subject again.

"Okumura Rin..." he said. "Do you... do you hate him?"

The surprise in Renzo's expression wasn't difficult to see. "What question is that?"

"But he's the son of Satan...!"

"Yeah, but... he's gone 'cause he saved our lives." Renzo shrugged, but it was a shrug that didn't look convincing even to Konekomaru's muddled mind. "How can you hate a guy who's dead?"

Konekomaru didn't answer. He didn't know.

* * *

When Yukio reached the grand double doors, he did not spare any thought for how deep and rich the wood was stained, did not spare any thought for the intricate designs plated gold atop its surface, nor did he spare any thought for how there was no doorknob nor any keyhole. He merely knew that _this_ was the gateway to Mephisto Pheles's office and, much as he did before, knocked twice.

Unlike last time, he did not wait for a reply before pushing the door _– _and to his surprise, it swung smoothly open.

When Yukio entered, Mephisto Pheles had been staring into a mirror and peering intently at the lighter patch atop his hair.

"So much like Shiro," Mephisto mused.

Yukio started; he hadn't been given a chance to speak, yet somehow he knew the words were directed at him. "What?"

"Every little second you seem to like reporting to me." Mephisto watched Yukio through the corners of narrow, slitted eyes. "Even at the cost of skipping classes, I see."

"It's lunchtime," said Yukio.

"Yet you never turned up to third period, did you? Such a bad boy~!"

Yukio did not deign the response with a reply _– _nor did he bother asking how Mephisto knew.

"There some issues I would like to discuss," he said.

"Discuss away~"

"I want to make sure _you_ won't report us to the Vatican."

Mephisto had been preoccupied with his reflection; when he turned to Yukio, his words were genuinely(_?_) surprised. "Why say that? Reporting is no benefit to me, after all."

"One report is enough to ensure your victory."

"I may not like to lose, but even _I_ wouldn't go that far."

"I want your word."

Was it Yukio's imagination when the curl atop Mephisto's head twitched?

"Very well. I shall add it to our terms," said Mephisto. "There was never a need to intervene."

_The Vatican will find out eventually, and I will win_; words unspoken but still very there.

"Secondly," began Yukio, but he was cut off when Mephisto waved a finger.

"Secondly is such a superfluous word, young Okumura," said Mephisto. "The word you seek is _second_. 'Secondly' is merely a troublesome conjugation too old-fashioned for these modern times, yes~?"

When Yukio opened his mouth he was about to refute. Then he remembered where he was and what he was trying to do, muffled his pride, and spoke again.

"_Second_," he said, "is it possible to prolong the illusion on the fake Kurikara in Suguro Ryuji's possession?"

"Prolong the illusion?" repeated Mephisto. "There's no need to do that. You may simply switch the real Kurikara for the fake. The soul has been extracted from the blade and now resides in Rin's body."

"It still needs to be retrieved. You said it would be a week until the illusion wanes."

"And...?"

"It has been more than a week."

"Then I miscalculated. You did not give me very long to prepare the illusion, after all."

"Can you definitively extend it to at least the end of October?"

"What will I get in return?"

Yukio froze. Mephisto finally looked away from the mirror, tucked his hands atop the surface of his desk and leant forward.

"I told you," said Mephisto. "There are no more favours."

There were many things Yukio could have said in response. They rose in his mind at once, simultaneously, a reversed ripple at which his conscious mind lay at the core – yet somehow, _somehow_, Yukio saw the most correct(_—advantageous_) answer leap from the waves and he somehow knew that, if he used it, everything would be fine.

Yukio had been aware of this ability few times before, had suppressed it, had taken advantage of it... had been (adequately) concerned.

This was the first time he welcomed the sensation.

"You said you would give us assistance," came the fluid reply.

"Simply until successful reanimation."

"Yet that is not what is stated in the contract. Could it not be argued that this switching of the swords is _directly_ linked to successful reanimation? You ask what you will receive in return – I believe you'll find this far more _entertaining_."

There was a strange expression on Mephisto's face, all unreadable sparks within green eyes and the corners of his mouth turned down not in a frown but still some determinedly unpleasant way.

"Only due to my poor phrasing, then, it shall be done," said Mephisto, reluctance manifesting in caustic voice and breath of frostbite. "The contract will be amended. Let this be the last addendum."

A scroll was manifested within gloved fingers, then placed atop the table. It unfurled by some unseen force; Yukio recognised the delicate silver script immediately.

Mephisto rolled a sleeve, removed the opposing glove, flexed fingers to call forth inhuman claws and then calmly held his exposed wrist over the thick paper and slashed down the veins. Some magical force stopped the blood before it could be absorbed; it hovered, defying gravity, a simple orb. From it, Yukio saw a ball of mercury so dark blue it should have been black, glimmering from within with the light of countless stars. It emanated _power_, a timeless aureole infinitely beyond human comprehension.

Yukio knew what was expected of him, having done it before. But as he scrabbled in his pocket for a blade, he did not expect the hand Mephisto held out towards him. The sleeve was still rolled up, but there was no cut—it had already healed over.

"Let me," said Mephisto.

Yukio offered his hand, letting the demon grab it and slash his wrist the same. Their bloods intermingled within the stars before becoming silver, and flattened into fine silver threads that were etched into the contract as their will. Words, characters, creation.

_The Fiend will not create, nor be the direct instigator of, any reports to the Vatican that lead to the Fiend's imminent victory._

_Assistance extended by the Fiend extend only to reanimation and immediate integration of the Subject._

There was an empty space, and still a small puddle or silver. As the words were spoken, the final line was done.

_"I, Okumura Yukio, agree."_

Mephisto licked the bloody residue off his fingers—something in Yukio's gut clenched uncomfortably—then clapped his hands. The scroll bound itself, then disappeared. He unrolled his sleeve and replaced his glove, watching Yukio in a distinctly unsettling manner.

"Really, Okumura, you must eat more fruit. You taste so bitter~" said Mephisto. "Are you done?"

Done? Not quite done. There were countless concerns Yukio still had; so many things he still wanted to ask. Though Mephisto's tone was playful, he may have asked a question, the farewell was there and the conversation over.

Yukio remembered a blond girl and her poignant gaze. He remembered how she accepted his lies without further thought; how thinking of the lies clawed at the scab in his soul. He found himself staying, overlooking both Rin's strange behaviour and Mephisto's true goals _–_ there was still something he had to say.

"Why did you decide on a funeral?" he asked.

An eyebrow was raised. "Are you implying there was a better option? An option more effective... more _capable_ of acting as an explanation for your absence?"

"But the repercussions on other people_—_" _Shiemi..._

"There are no more questions. They begin to draw their own conclusions_—_which by far is the most powerful tool within one's arsenal. Whilst, I will admit I only ran simulations based on one month at most for their grief to be overcome, isn't it so much better _– _so much more _convenient_ that it hasn't?"

"It takes more than a month to_—_"

"For how long was Fujimoto Shiro's death mourned?"

_That—_

_Click._ An electric kettle's call, its water brought to boil. Mephisto snapped his fingers. In a poof of pink smoke, a small cup of instant ramen appeared in the centre of the desk. As he added boiling water, he did not notice how Yukio stiffened; or if he did, he made no notice of it.

"After all," continued Mephisto, idly, as he replaced the lid and left the noodles to stew, "Okumura Rin is the son of Satan. In keeping him hidden beneath the Vatican's radar, the breaking of the Kurikara is by far the most useful turn of events that could have occurred. Now that he's able to hide beneath grief and under the guise of death_—witnessed_ death, how lucky you are! You should be _thankful_ for such an opportunity~!"

Pause; only the cruel objective.

"...Is that what you truly think?"

Nothing of those who cared.

The demon sitting across from Yukio_—_the demon who _knew_ the capacity of human emotion but held no true _understanding—_blinked cluelessly and asked, "Is there more?" There must have been some answer in Yukio's eyes, for then he added; "You really didn't think things could be the way they once were, did you?"

And that was the truth. How that was the truth! To have his brother alive, revived, yet ensuring his existence would not be discovered by the Vatican...?

No matter how much the demon helped Yukio's cause, it was with a sinking heart that he realised it was a gamble he could never, ever win. Rin may have been revived, but he could never be the same. It was more than a name suspended in the past, lost to time, but a person.

Left with no solutions, Okumura Yukio only had questions, and any questions he'd previously thought necessary were dwarfed by the silliest of them all.

"Who are you, Mephisto Pheles?"

The demon who could never be human simply smirked and winked in reply.

"Merely a demon that plays with space and time."

**.**

**.**

**.**

_I really hope I don't have to mention this, but (just to be safe) Rin's characterisation is very relevant to the story._

_Please review. :)_


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